


sun sinks down, no curfew

by dustyspines



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Hogwarts, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 123,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyspines/pseuds/dustyspines
Summary: Albus and Scorpius never actually thought they would make it to the end of their seventh year in one piece. Except now they have and the entire wizarding world is waiting to see what the two of them do next.Nobody really expects them to take a month-long trip around Europe to escape from their impending future. But, Albus thinks, they've never had the simplest of lives, so why would they start now? A month away from the hustle and bustle of life at home is exactly what the two of them need after their recent escapades and perhaps, Albus thinks, it'll give him time to try and work out when Scorpius started to look so pretty in his eyes.





	1. england

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since i've written a fanfic, let along a scorbus fanfic. but i recently saw cursed child again and my love for these two boys reignited. this is a seven part, multi-chapter fic that basically follows these two dorks travelling europe and experiencing the muggle and wizarding communities. each part is a different country, they can be read as single entities but there is an overarching plot/character development that ties everything together <3
> 
> title is from it's nice to have a friend by taylor swift because, let's be honest, that song is basically these two wrapped in one piece <3

**15th June**

The latches on Albus’ trunk fill the still air with gentle _snaps_ as he finishes packing his belongings, stripping the dorm of any signs that he had lived here at all. His clothes are all neatly folded back into place and his books have been perfectly organised such that there is not a single inch of space between them. The entire box is full of the last seven years of his life, and Albus feels overwhelmingly nostalgic as he glances around the room for what will be, perhaps, one of the last times.

On his dresser, stuffed between a photograph of his parents and a potions textbook he never _actually_ finished reading, Albus remembers, was where he kept his ever-growing collection of Exploding Snap cards. His parents had started getting him a different pack each Christmas, all with different patterns on the front. The traditional pack, of course, with Bowtruckles and Giant Squids on the front, had been the first pack he’d been given. Quickly followed by a specific Herbology pack, then a Quidditch players pack. Albus couldn’t quite remember why the tradition had started or, for that matter, why he needed so many variants, but he recalls specific memories from each card, and, because of that, is eternally grateful for his collection.

Albus brushes his fingers over the space where the cards used to rest, his fingertip covering in dust as the ancient furniture stands empty. He draws a little heart and a sad face among the dusty canvas before him, but turns away before he can dwell too much on the sadness he feels.

It’s weird, Albus thinks, that he’s so incredibly sad to be leaving Hogwarts when, in reality, he never really had a smooth-sailing life here. He remembers his first few years being filled with utter misery, wishing he could be anywhere but the lonely halls and, at one point, even praying he’d wake up a Squib so he could leave forever and try and continue a normal life elsewhere. He’d travelled time, almost lost his best friend, had _died_ in one timeline and watched one of his classmates breathe his last breath in front of him and yet a part of Albus still doesn’t want to leave. Perhaps it’s the unknown, Albus thinks. Everything at Hogwarts is so structured and consistent that Albus knows he never has time to mourn the past or the tragedies in his life. It’s early morning and he has woken up from a nightmare about the dark timeline? That’s fine, he has a class in half an hour. Albus is always busy here, and that’s the part he likes. The minute he boards the Hogwarts Express back home and is no longer a student, Merlin knows how much time Albus will have to ponder the mistakes he’s made and the errors that plague his mind on a daily basis.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts Albus’ bittersweet reflection, drawing his attention away from the memories that are etched into his bedposts and rather to the sweet shadow standing in the doorway. “Leaving Feast starts soon, we should probably head down soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Course,” Albus says. He wipes his hand over the cabinet, destroying all evidence of his little doodles and clearing the slate of the dust. “Was just finishing up in here.”

Scorpius smiles. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” Albus chuckles. He chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip, despite knowing Scorpius will scold him for doing so, and gently brushes his fingers through the drapes on the bed and the perfectly made up sheets. “Can’t believe this isn’t going to be home anymore.”

“Home?” Scorpius asks. “I never thought I’d see the day you of all people would call this dormitory home.”

“I know,” Albus smiles. “This place just has an annoyingly comforting vibe about it.”

“And good people.” Scorpius adds.

Albus pauses. “A good person.”

Scorpius smiles. Albus watches as his friend casts a glance around the room, his eyes lingering in _their_ places. Their corner of the room where they’d sit on the carpet and write essays late into the night. The foot of Scorpius’ bed where they’d sit and talk the entire evening away. Albus knows in that moment that he isn’t alone in his nostalgia.

“Come on, you,” Scorpius eventually says. “I’m starving.”

⚡

There is food. There is laughter. Albus smiles at Scorpius and Scorpius smiles back at him. They gently kick each other’s feet under the table as if to say _hey, we actually made it_. McGonagall gives a speech about their hard work and praises their excellent results.

“Whether you go to the Ministry, teaching, or any other branch of employment,” McGonagall says. “I hope you remember us on your journey. I hope that you feel proud of all you have achieved and will look back fondly on your years here. The relationships that have been made, friendships that are unbreakable. But, mostly, I hope you feel fulfilled and happy.”

Albus thinks he sees a glimmer of some tears in her eyes, whether that be because she’s thrilled to see the year leave or upset that she’s losing another batch of students, and he chokes up a little himself. It’s been a journey, one he never really expected to be so draining.

There is a gentle bubble of conversation that echoes around the Hall, younger students chatting about what plans they have for the summer, older students talking about their plans now they have graduated: mostly everyone talks about how much they love this school. Albus catches Lily’s eye from across the tables, her prefect badge glinting under the light, and she smiles at him. A Weasley smile, Albus thinks. Full of mischief and love and joy and _confidence_. She radiates it all. Even in the two second glance she passes his way (because, of course, she can’t be seen paying _too_ much attention to her brother: she has a reputation to maintain), Albus can feel his sister’s love.

And then he glances to Rose. Her Head Girl badge gleams a little brighter, her smile a little sadder, but her eyes a _lot_ wider. She has the whole world at her fingertips. With charisma flowing out in the way she talks with her hands and smarts to last a lifetime, Albus has not a single doubt that Rose would escalate through the ranks of the wizarding world as fast as her mother did. He catches Rose’s eye as she looks up from her goblet, and all at once he’s taken back to the many Christmases they spent sat opposite each other at the Burrow. Dressed in Christmas jumper’s knitted by their Grandmother, top lip shimmering from the endless glasses of pumpkin juice they’d been drinking. And now here they were. At the end of their Hogwarts journey that, honestly, hadn’t gone the way Albus intended. At the end of the road that split into two different paths; Albus doubted they were going to head down the same one.

He watches as her eyes flick to his side, face falling to a shadow of sadness. Albus attempts to subtly follow her gaze, though there really is no way to discreetly look to the person sat right next to him.

_Scorpius_.

Right, Albus thinks. It was bound to come up again on this evening. It would be pretty impossible to say goodbye to the last seven years of his life without acknowledging the fact that his best friend and his cousin played lead roles in one of the most high profile relationships that had occurred in their year. Sure, Polly and Yann were a success story that set tongues wagging when they first paired up, but a Malfoy and a Granger-Weasley elicited interest from the entire student body.

Albus remembers the countless nights he and Scorpius had spent in their dorm room talking about _Rose_. Before they got together the conversations tended to revolve around the fact that the match was never going to happen. Scorpius’ sweet cheeks would colour red as he asked Albus if he’d spoken to Rose recently, and the colour would only darken as his best friend teased him relentlessly about the impossibility of the relationship. It was all fun and games to Albus; the two of them were completely inseparable and the banter-filled conversations where he could make Scorpius squirm were just a testimony to how _okay_ and _close_ they were.

Until, in their fifth year, the two of them actually got together. Albus can’t remember the explicit ins and outs of how the match occurred – either because he suppresses the memories or because he daren’t mention Rose’s name around Scorpius anymore – but he can distinctly remember coming back on the Hogwarts Express and having to share a compartment with his cousin. When he thinks about those awful journeys and the days the three of them would spend in the library working together or talking together Albus can only remember feeling entirely torn apart. His safe unit had been infiltrated by someone he didn’t want around all the time. He loved Rose, truly, she was his cousin. They were best friends as kids, but they weren’t best friends _now_. He and Scorpius were. And suddenly all their moments as two friends were contorted into activities three people could do. 

It started quietly: on the weekends when the two of them would take a walk around the grounds and sit by the lake doing work Rose now appeared. During their Hogsmeade visits (which they had to beg McGonagall to let them take up again after the incident from their fourth year) they had to move tables in the Three Broomsticks to one that could occupy three people. Then it got more apparent that they were seriously becoming a _thing_, and that Albus was a little piece they dragged along to be polite. In summer when Scorpius would come to stay at the Burrow he and Rose would spend hours in the garden, talking about gnomes and Quidditch and bread recipes Scorpius had been researching.

All throughout their fifth year, both Scorpius and Rose being prefects for their houses, they would do things together. And Albus was there, sure. In the background always being a positive force and listening to Scorpius’ anxious rambles about a date idea or an anniversary idea or some other romantic situation that Albus really didn’t the advice for but also didn’t have the heart to ignore.

The two of them shone, a beautiful wave of intelligence and love that floated above the rest of the school. Two prefects, both highly expected to be Head Boy and Girl elect, two children of notably famous names. It was sickening to a certain degree. Sweet Rosie and the Scorpion King.

And then it all fell apart.

Albus remembers the details of the breakup a lot more vividly than the honeymoon phase. He and Lily had spent the day in Diagon Alley getting supplies for Hogwarts, Albus buying his Seventh Year robes and his final set of textbooks. He remembers being at home, wrapped in his Snitch-patterned blanket when a rattling at his window rose him from his slumber. He remembers the Malfoy family owl shivering on his windowsill, feathers heavy with raindrops and beak clutching a letter. He remembers seeing the little peacock doodle in the corner of the envelope, Scorpius’ signature detail to let Albus know the letter was from him.

Then he remembers sneaking downstairs to Floo to the Malfoy Manor, spending the entire evening wrapped up in Astoria’s untouched library consoling his best friend. Albus wrapped Scorpius in a blanket he found on the back of a rocking chair, a gorgeous cream colour with turquoise scalloped edges, and spent hours rubbing his back or drumming his fingers over his knee – anything to ease Scorpius out of this shell of heartbreak. Between little shudders and sniffs Scorpius managed to spell out the basics of the break-up.

He’d received a letter from Professor McGonagall offering him the position of Head Boy. Rose had one offering Head Girl. They’d gone to a park for a picnic to celebrate when Rose said she didn’t think it was working and thought they should split. Albus pressed for a reason but Scorpius said there wasn’t one.

(He was lying. Albus could tell; Scorpius spent the conversation fiddling with his watchstrap, his go-to gesture to distract himself when he lied to someone).

It had been… a lot to take in. Suddenly having Scorpius all to himself again. It was the only thing he’d wanted during the last two years, yet everything was different. Scorpius was quiet again, a curled up half-shadow of a person he had been since their fifth year began. It reminded Albus of the first few months after Astoria passed: just the two of them sat in the dormitory, wands lit and balanced in goblets as makeshift lanterns, reading and playing chess and being quiet as Scorpius worked through everything that had been going on in his mind.

Albus felt helpless. Scorpius _was_ helpless. It was as if someone had hit a hypothetical reset button and they were starting all over again.

“Hey,” a soft voice, and a gentle kick under the table, ends Albus’ nostalgic reminiscing session. “You ready to head back to our room?”

Albus smiles. At his best friend. His _truest_ friend. With his perfect ever so slightly wavy hair and freckle-dusted cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says, gently patting Scorpius’ arm as they stood and joined the tidal wave of students trying desperately to get out the Great Hall. “Let’s go.”

As Albus walks out the Hall, for the last time, his mind supplies, he tries desperately to remember the details of the floor under his shoes and the shadows that carve onto the walls from the starry illusion hanging above the tables. Scorpius’ hand bumps into his, the familiar chill grounding him from his daydreams once again.

And… yeah, Albus thinks. He’s really going to miss this place.

⚡

Their room is bare and Albus can’t sleep. He hates the emptiness of his dresser and despises the pile of trunks at the foot of his bed. His wardrobe hangs slightly open – as it has for years after he accidentally snapped it off with a misplaced spell and Scorpius had tried to mend it with Muggle tools – and the lack of hangers and clothes sits wrong in his mind. The emptiness is uncomfortable.

Scorpius sniffs from where he lies on his bed, flat on his back with his dreamy eyes staring upwards. Albus rolls onto his side, arms cuddling his pillow to his chest as he watches the rise and fall of Scorpius’ breathing.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” Albus asks into the darkness.

Scorpius flicks his gaze over to Albus, not that he can see, but doesn’t move from where he rests. “We’ve made many mistakes in our short lives, Albus,” Scorpius says. “I’m going to need you to be more exact.”

“Like,” Albus continues. He casts a quiet _Lumos_ to light up their room, fingers toying with the slightly fraying cover of his duvet. “Going on this trip. Travelling Europe instead of training for a job or getting into a career?”

“Why would that be a mistake?”

“I don’t know,” Albus shrugs. “I guess because everyone around us has these grand plans of what their future will be and have lined up courses or jobs or things that will make their life good. And we’re just, you know, running away.”

Albus watches as Scorpius sits up and moves over to his bed. Albus noticed a permanent dent in his mattress during his third year, right where Scorpius always sits. It’s his space. Officially. A constant dip in the mattress from the hours Scorpius would spend curled up in a ball at the foot of Albus’ bed, sometimes even falling asleep down there.

“We’re not running away,” Scorpius assures. “We’re… taking a break from all this.” He waves a hand around the room.

“But then we still have to come back to all this,” Albus mimics the gesture. “And we’ll be at the bottom of the pile because we spent a month pissing off in France and Greece while everyone else was working on their magic and getting cosy with members of the Ministry.”

“Al,” Scorpius says. He rests his hands on his friend's knees, gaze locked with Albus’. “There’s not one path to make your life successful. You don’t have to leap straight from Hogwarts to a career that you’ll stay in for the rest of your life. That’s not how things work. You’re allowed to take your time, to breathe. To figure it out. Especially when you’ve had a tough run of things.”

Albus nods. They sit in silence for a few moments, Scorpius’ touch burning into Albus’ leg but neither of them doing anything to separate the contact. “I guess I just feel like I’m disappointing my dad by not leaping straight into action.”

“What? And you think he did?”

“Well… yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t know.”

Scorpius’ head shakes. “Right, okay. Makes sense. Your dad fights in a huge Wizarding War, watching some of his loved ones die, kills the darkest wizard to ever roam and totally goes straight into a career,” he says. “Your dad would have taken time to adjust, too. You need to be nicer to yourself.”

“There’s a huge difference between fighting in a war and having a rough few years at school, Scorp.”

“It’s impossible to get through to you, you know that?” Scorpius says.

And then he’s closing the gap between them and engulfing Albus in a hug. His pyjamas are soft against Albus’ cheek as he lets himself fall complacent in the arms of the one person he’s ever truly felt safe around.

“I know.”

⚡

**16th June**

They’re about to board to boats back to the train station for the final time when Albus finally lets himself crumble ever so slightly. Looking at the castle, the squares of golden light spilling into the sky and the gentle flutter of wings in the air as owls circle the turrets, Albus breaks slightly. His firm gaze falters and his eyes water in the corners. From his side Scorpius drapes an arm around his shoulders, a constant anchor keeps him upright and focusing his gaze on the future instead of the past.

“Still get a tingle?” Albus asks. His hand flies up to his face to wipe away the few tears that had materialised.

Scorpius chuckles behind him. A throaty chuckle, followed quickly by a gentle sniff. Albus doesn’t have to look at his friend to know they’re feeling the same sort of emotions right now. He just crosses an arm over his chest up to his shoulder to touch Scorpius’ hands. Their fingers weave into one whole, joined piece and, while looking at the castle – their _home_ – Albus can’t quite believe they’ve made it.

The boats are small and stuffy and there is a lot less space between them than back in First Year. On that brisk September day they’d stared at the castle with dreamy, wide eyes, arms wrapped around their knees and minds racing with the endless possibilities that could happen in the next seven years. Now their knees collide and arms balance against each other in delicate little touches, but their eyes are still wide and minds racing with the possibilities of the future.

The water gently cradles the boat, lapping up the side and trickling behind in soft patterns as they magically glide across the surface of the lake. There is no conversation, just sadly amazed glances as the entire year sail away from the last seven years of their lives.

Albus snatches a glance at Scorpius. The dying glow from the Hogwarts lanterns paint his face an angelic golden colour, pale skin glimmering from the sticky tear tracks on his cheeks. He really is the single most interesting person Albus thinks he’s ever met.

Scorpius looks at him.

And everything falls into place. Because, honestly, as long as he’s got this bundle of life next to him, tugging on his sleeve and giggling at everything, Albus thinks they’re going to be okay.

⚡

Platform 9 and ¾ feels different. The wall separating them from the rest of the world seems to be a rite of passage. After they leave they won’t be back until they have children, if they ever do have children. Albus scolds himself for descending into a nostalgic mind-set, for spending all his time wasting thoughts on the past and what he’ll miss, instead of thinking about what is possible.

As the train pulls to the platform and stops Albus spots his mum and dad waiting a little away. His dad has an arm around his mum, the two of them lost in some sweet conversation before they have their other two children back again. Albus wasn’t sure whether James would be home, since he’d been scouted by a Quidditch team in Spain and had been off training whenever Albus had come back for the holidays.

Albus catches his mum’s eye out the window and gives her a wave, smiling to her and her only until her figure is cut off by a crowd of students flooding off the train.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Scorpius teases, gently nudging Albus’ side. Albus watches as he tabs the page in the book he’s reading, something complicated about the practice of Healing the psychological effects of two of the Unforgivable Curses. “I can see your mum and dad staring in our direction.”

They step off the train together – for the last time, his mind adds – and weave their way through the crowd to find their parents. Scorpius drifts off at some point, whispering into Albus’ ear (or perhaps he wasn’t whispering? Albus can’t tell from how loud the platform is) that he spotted Draco off to one side and was going to go see him.

Albus stumbles through the remaining lines of people separating him from his parents, and as he breaks through to see his mum and dad he crumbles the rest of the way.

His mum immediately wraps him into a hug, his dad appearing seconds later to create a whole piece. The three of them, one last time.

“Hi, my love,” Ginny says after pulling back from Albus. She brushes her thumbs over Albus’ cheeks, wiping away some of the tears he hadn’t realised had fallen. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“You did it, Al,” Harry says. He ruffles Albus’ hair, lovingly planting a kiss to his temple. “Nearly ended the world as we knew it at some point, but you’re here. Graduated. Entire life ahead of you.”

“Oh, Merlin. Don’t remind me.” Albus laughs.

“If the nerds over here are done crying,” Lily says, smiling as she weaves her way into the family circle. “I’m absolutely starving.”

Harry smiles, fingers brushing through his hair. A flicker of his scar gleams out at the world as the strands fall back into place, and for a second he looks just like the sweet, young boy who once stood on this platform with a world of mysteries ahead of him. He looks to two of his children, eyes alight with love, and cocks his head to the wall.

“Let’s go, then. We can Floo home,” Harry smiles. “James is coming back for a few days, too. He should be there when we get to the house.”

“Wait,” Albus interrupts. “I need to say bye to Scorpius.”

Ginny smiles, a sweet and soft one saved just for her son. She gently rubs his back and stretches up onto her tiptoes to search for the Malfoys. “We’d never leave without saying bye to Scorp, love.”

Albus flushes a little as the four of them look for Scorpius and Draco, the fluttering of Hogwarts cloaks turning into Muggle coats blurring their vision.

Until, like magic, Scorpius and Draco break through the crowd. Albus and Draco share a smile, an intimate one that has been built up over years of sleepovers at the manor and night-time conversations as the two of them would go for a glass of water at the same time.

The hand Draco has on Scorpius’ shoulder is one that has been established over a few years of trusting and growth, too. Albus can recall times when Scorpius would shudder away from his father’s grasp; never because he was afraid of Draco, purely because it was something he wasn’t familiar with. So seeing them now, together on the platform melted into each other’s side, made Albus feel like they’d finally come full circle.

“So, Draco,” Ginny says. “Feel odd? Knowing it’s your last time on the platform?”

Draco stifles a laugh. “Slightly,” he says. “But I’m just glad to have him back for a few weeks before he ups and leaves again.”

“Are you two sure you want to do this?” Harry adds. There is a flavour of reluctance wavering in his voice, and his grip on Albus’ shoulder tightens a little. “You know it’s not too late to try and find work or a training program or–”

“We’re sure, Harry,” Scorpius adds. He glances at Albus, afraid that he would see his friend faltering knowing his dad still wasn’t completely on board with their plan. “We know it isn’t… traditional, but it’s something we’ve talked about for ages.”

“Besides,” Albus adds. “We’ve already lined up work for a few weeks.”

A friendly pat on Albus’ back sends him jumping into the air, but a familiar smell of toffee and cinnamon soothes him straight away. “You’re not trying to take me newest employee away from me, are you?” Ron asks, dropping Rose’s trunk to the side.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I would never do anything of the sort.”

“Good,” Ron adds. “Because Mister Albus Potter over here is going to be the greatest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes employee ever.”

“_Temporary_ employee.” Albus murmurs, though his comment is washed away by a fluttering of more cloaks as Hermione and Rose join the little mix.

Scorpius gently tugs on Albus’ sleeve among the commotion, their eyes meeting in a fleeting moment of reassurance.

“What about you, Scorpius?” Hermione asks. Her skirt floats around her ankles, the rich maroon material oozing elegance and authority.

“I’m at St Mungos,” Scorpius smiles. “Only at reception. Doing admin things. But getting the experience and getting to know some people there will be good.”

Hermione smiles. From the way her lips are taught and fingers fiddle with the hem of her jacket Albus can tell there is something she wants to say but can’t. He often forgets that there is a lot of history between everyone in this circle that he doesn’t know about. He can imagine that there were many conversations Scorpius and Hermione shared when he and Rose were still together and he spent time at their house during their breaks from Hogwarts. There’s something sad in the look Hermione and Scorpius share. Albus gently nudges Scorpius’ side, and his expression brightens.

“I hate to break up this friendly chit-chat,” Ginny smiles. “But James is coming back for a few days and he has no way of getting into the house, so we really need to get home before he does.”

“Of course, of course,” Hermione says. She pulls her family into a tight hug, giving a few extra squeezes to Albus, and a smile in Scorpius’ direction. “Well, anyway, we’ll see you tomorrow at the Burrow. Celebratory dinner, and all that.”

“Are you coming tomorrow, Scorpius?”

Everyone’s gaze snaps to Rose as she speaks. Her utterance is friendly, genuine. Her smile is struggling, and Scorpius’ eyes are sad, but they’re both trying.

“Um,” Scorpius says, fingers fiddling with each other. “Albus had asked if I was coming along, but…”

“You should,” Rose smiles. “Come. You should come.”

Scorpius nods but doesn’t respond. Draco senses a layer of discomfort swelling around the group, and so picks up Scorpius’ trunk and peels the two of them back from the circle. “We’ll be off, then,” he smiles. “See you all soon.”

Albus fights for Scorpius’ gaze among the mass of bodies all picking up their belongings and starting to disperse in different directions. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, nervously chewing as he waits for Scorpius to look up.

“I’ll come to the manor,” Albus whispers, having taken the initiative and closed the gap between them. “Next weekend, maybe? So we can plan some more stuff and just, you know, so I can see you.”

Scorpius nods. “That’s… that would be nice.”

And then they’re hugging. Two halves together again. They used to struggle with the whole hugging thing, never knowing if the other would be comfortable or if it was something they should do. But now, now they’ve worked through everything, Albus can’t imagine not hugging his best friend. The curve of Scorpius’ neck is where his chin belongs, quite frankly, and with one arm over and one arm around the two of them had found a way to balance each other out. Equilibrium. Peace.

“You don’t have to come tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Albus clears his throat. “Don’t… don’t worry if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Albus says. he drags his hands down Scorpius’ sleeves as they part, brushing off some dust and lint and a few stray tears that Albus again didn’t realise had fallen, “Well. See you soon.”

Albus turns to leave but is stopped by a chilling touch to his wrist. He turns to Scorpius once more, his dreamy grey eyes piercing right into Albus’ soul. “Love you.”

Albus smiles. “Love you, too.”

⚡

**17th June**

Scorpius doesn’t come. Albus didn’t expect him too, really. He’d mentioned the celebratory meal at the Burrow in passing during one of their last meals in the Great Hall, saying that his grandparents were hosting something in the garden and that if Scorpius could come it would be nice. But Albus knew from the look on Scorpius’ face that his presence would never materialise.

There was something in the way he nodded, only a gentle tip of his chin, and his refusal to look at Albus, that told him all he needed to know.

Albus sits in his mum’s old bedroom, gazing wistfully out the window as the adults set up tables and covers and plates, when James knocks on the door. He’s taller than Albus recalls, which is odd since he could have sworn people stopped growing by the time they reached age twenty, but James seemed to be an anomaly.

His hair had begun to curl more at the ends, though it was uncharacteristically long at the moment as he usually trimmed it for Quidditch purposes, and his skin glowed with a golden tint from his days spent training in the sweet Spanish sunshine. Albus had been confused when James opted to leave to play for the Barcelona Bicorns instead of an English team, but he sensed that there was a desire for his brother to prove himself outside of the family name by moving through the ranks of a different federation. Which was something Albus understood completely: he’d worked through most of the difficulties surrounding his famous name, but he still has moments of fear that everything would be handed to him, that people would relate everything back to his name, and that was something he couldn’t stand the idea of.

James has an oversized jumper on, one that looks a lot like those American Muggle university jumpers, the words ‘Barcelona Bicorns’ in capitals spread over his chest. His odd socks, one a Thestral pattern and the other a chocolate frog one, scratch on the carpet as he shuffles over to the bed and sits beside Albus.

“Hey, little brother.”

Albus smiles. Sort of. “Hi.”

James brushes his fingers over the duvet on the bed, little cuts and bruises dotted all over his fingers. Albus thought Quidditch players had to wear gloves when on their broomsticks, but he’s similarly not surprised that James would disobey that rule.

“I thought Scorpius would’ve been here.”

“Really?” Albus asks.

James falters. “Well… I mean. I wasn’t sure. Because of, you know…” he trails off. “It’s just that wherever you are he usually is.”

“He’s with his dad. I think they’re going to his Aunt’s house, Daphne, for the day,” Albus shrugs. “I’d do the same thing if I was him. If the two choices were lunch at a house with his ex-girlfriend and her entire extended family or a quiet day with his mum’s sister and dad… there’s one significantly more ideal choice.”

James chuckles quietly. “Makes sense,” he says. “So you’re still doing the whole European trip?”

“Yep,” Albus nods. “France, Greece, Italy… all that kind of stuff.”

“Spain?”

Albus smiles. “Course.”

“So you’re obviously going to come and see me?” James asks.

“If you give us a place to sleep, we’re all yours.”

“Well… I could try and fit you in.” James says, his voice clouded with… _something_.

Albus drags his brows together. “What? You got someone in your tiny Spain flat, or something?” James’ silence tells him all he needs to know. “Wait. What? Seriously? Who?”

James rolls his eyes, but his sweet golden skin tints a little red. “Nobody.”

“Oh, come on!” Albus playfully swats his brother with a cushion.

“You don’t know her,” James says. “She’s from Spain!”

Albus huffs. “You’re boring.”

James smiles and gently shakes his head. “Beyond the point,” he says. “Anyway, I just came up here to check that you were okay. You’ve been cooped up here since everyone arrived.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You are.” James says.

“I’m _not_.”

James releases a breath. “Okay. You’re not hiding,” he surrenders. “Also, grandpa is looking for you. Something about a graduation present.”

Albus nods. He returns his gaze to the window, following the flight of an owl as it drifts across the horizon, outlined by sweet orange tones from the setting sun. He and James sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments; James picks at a loose thread on his jumper before clicking his fingers to magic the stitch back in place, and Albus runs his fingertips over the gaps in the knees of his jeans.

“What do you reckon our parents really feel about the fact two of their kids are basically fleeing the country?” Albus finally asks.

James glances at Albus, but Albus doesn’t look back. “I think…” James starts. “I think they don’t know what to feel. I’d like to think they’d understand that neither of us were dying to leap into a Ministry job, but I imagine having both of us immediately leaving the house isn’t what they expected.”

“I feel like they’re disappointed,” Albus confesses. “Maybe not in you, because you’re actually doing something. But just… in the fact we’re drifting away.”

“Disappointed because we’re seeking opportunities elsewhere?”

“Disappointed that we are shying away from what’s expected of us,” Albus says. “I know we aren’t supposed to be identical to what they are. I understand that; we aren’t meant to follow their exact footsteps and do everything how they did. We don’t have to become senior editors of the _Prophet_ or go to the Ministry. But, I mean, we are really going off on our own one, aren’t we? I mean, can you imagine what people think? Harry and Ginny Potter have produced two kids so arrogant they’re leaving everything that’s been laid out for them.”

“It’s not arrogance, Al,” James sighs. “You think too much about other people, and not enough about yourself. If mum and dad were really bothered by the fact we are living our lives and doing whatever the fuck we want to do, they would tell us. They wouldn’t just sit in the background and whisper behind our backs. Sure, it’s probably not what they wanted. But what people want isn’t always what they need. Maybe they wanted us around so they knew we’d always be safe, but what they _needed_ was for us to do something of our own accord and show them that we’re okay. This is new ground for them, Al. For years all three of us have been here, with them, always reachable. They taught us how to live, and now we’re teaching them how to let us do that.”

Albus sighs. James wraps an arm around his shoulder and gives him a supportive squeeze. “Love you, Al,” he says, lips pressing a kiss to his brother’s temple. “Come down soon. I think food is nearly ready. And don’t forget about grandpa.”

Albus nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down in a sec.”

James rises and strides over to the door, pausing in the open arch and brushing his fingertips over the doorknob. “She’s a Muggle.”

Albus drags his eyebrows together. “Who?”

James pauses. “The girl.”

And then he’s gone, leaving behind him a trail of fascination and wonder.

⚡

Albus creeps into the shed outside after the meal to try and find his grandfather. After the War, his mum had told him, the whole family sought to rebuild the Burrow following the destruction from the Death Eaters. There are still signs the attack in certain parts of the house, charred woods and bricks they couldn’t fix and additional supports holding up the structure where magic can’t reach. Part of the renovation included creating a shed for Arthur to display all his Muggle goods away from the clutter of the house. With many children and many more grandchildren, the Burrow often looked like a messy toy shop that could be found in Diagon Alley, not really the appropriate place for Arthur to display his vintage Muggle telephone collection.

The shed is made up of a spread of tables in the centre, little stools dotted around so people can sit and rest and stare in wonder at all the collectibles, and around the walls are various bookshelves stocked full with more artefacts and notebooks detailing the intricacies of various Muggle technologies. It smells constantly ashy and oily, something Albus noticed a while ago, but he remained obsessed with coming in to gaze at everything. He’d mentioned once that his grandpa could set up a shop to sell these things; like people used to collect Dark Magic artefacts, there would definitely be people interested in certain Muggle artefacts, but Arthur was reluctant to allow any of his bits and pieces to leave his care.

Albus immediately heads over to his personal favourite section that Arthur has accumulated over the years: ceramic Abyssinian cats. Small ones with chipped paint and glossy ones that are moulded into elegant poses: Albus is obsessed with them. He remembers when his grandpa first brought one back from work, when Albus was around six years old and his feet didn’t touch the ground when he sat around the artefact table.

“Found this in a raid,” his grandpa had said. “The wizard had hexed an antiques shop in Birmingham so that the animal statues would attack people when they came to take them. This little fellow bit someone’s finger, but we took the hex off and I managed to bring it home.”

Albus gazed in wonder at the sweet eyes of the figure, and placed it delicately on an empty cake stand that acted as a display for Arthur’s collection. “I wonder what type of cat it is… I’ve never seen one of these at Hogwarts before.”

The next time Albus came into the shed his grandpa had a cat encyclopaedia on the table and the two of them wasted the day away trying to decipher what breed the cat was. They settled on Abyssinian after a little debate about the shape of its ears, and Albus fell in love with the notion that the cats are normally incredibly shy and only open up to certain people when they really trust them. But, once they’re out their shell, they will trust the person forever. Albus told Scorpius about the cat the next time they saw each other and Scorpius had teased Albus saying that if he were reborn as an animal in the future, he’d be an Abyssinian.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Albus had asked, playfully shoving Scorpius.

“Well, you’re not the loudest person in the world,” Scorpius smiled. “You took a while to come out of your shell, and you don’t trust people easily. It’s basically you in cat form. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if this cat turned out to be your Patronus.”

Albus gently brushes his fingers over the statues as he waits for his grandpa to arrive, turning some of them to different angles and wiping specs of dust from the backs of others. He wishes so badly to have a collection like this at some point in his life – something so expansive and detailed that people could see he was so passionate about it. He has the Exploding Snap cards, sure, but those have been gifted to him. They aren’t something he’s collected himself.

“Albus Severus,” a voice says, a low and croaky and slow one. “I’ve been searching for you all day. I assume James got to you?”

Albus smiles as his grandpa sits next to him, a quiet _oof_ and knee cracks sounding as he lowers. “He told me you had something to give me.”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur digs under the table into a raggedy cardboard box and pulls out a large envelope bulging at the sides. “Just something for you to have on your trip. I have one for Scorpius as well, but he’s not here. I’ll trust you to pass it on to him.”

Albus smiles and takes the envelope from Arthur. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I got James an antique Snitch from one of the Quidditch World cups, Al, I was going to get you something.” Arthur says.

Albus peels back the bubble-wrap (something else Arthur found in a Muggle house and shortly became fascinated with) and pulls out a small rucksack: big enough to fit maybe a day’s worth of clothes and a few little trinkets, but small enough to not get too heavy. On the main flap are his initials, ASP, embossed in a delicate gold colour, and the main material has been dyed a deep green.

“It’s not as small as it looks,” Arthur says. “Put your hand in it.”

Albus undoes the clasps on the rucksack and tentatively places his hand into the bag, head tilting to the side as he struggles to find the bottom. He sweeps his hand around the entire bag and only as he stretches out in all his might does he finally get to the bottom.

“It’s charmed to be bigger than it looks, but Muggles can’t sense it. When a Muggle puts their hand in they’ll just pull out some notes and mints. But you can put lots of things in here that you find,” Arthur continues. “I see how you look at everything in here, Albus. You love it. The collection, the history. And you’re going to some very ancient places. There’s so much history out there, things that I don’t even know about. Foreign artefacts that you collect… you can put in here. And when you bring them back we can start sorting out how you’re going to sell them.”

“Sell them?” Albus asks.

“You always mention running your own shop. Whether it’s in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or somewhere else. A foreign artefact shop, either Magical or Muggle, would get so much business. And with you behind the counter it would thrive, Al,” Arthur continues. “I know part of the reason you’re doing this trip is because you don’t know what you want to do and feel like you can’t stay here to work it out. Which you could, but that’s a different conversation entirely. You don’t have to go into some larger than life career to do with magic if you don’t want. I mean, your uncles run a joke shop, for Merlin’s sake. And I honestly think that’s where you should go. But not jokes, real artefacts.”

“I…” Albus says, holding the rucksack close to his chest. “I have no idea what to say.”

“We love you, Albus,” Arthur says. “So much. I know you struggle with this, and you struggle with family and feeling like an outlier. And though we wish you would realise you could stay here if you wanted, I know that going away for a while is what you need. Just… look at this gift as an option. There is a whole world out there, you’re going to experience another slice of it. Please enjoy it, and don’t worry about what’s happening back here.”

Albus stands and pulls his grandpa into a hug. He tries to be gentle as to not hurt Arthur, but can’t help letting his emotions overcome him slightly. The rucksack squashes between them, buckle digging into Albus’ skin, but he doesn’t care.

“Thank you, grandpa.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

Albus pauses, clearing his throat as he brushes his fingertips over his initials on the bag. “I know I’m really difficult, and I know deep down that I could always stay here if I wanted. But I think this trip will be really good for me. Good for all of us, especially mum and dad. And I promise when I get back that we can start thinking about what’s next for me.”

“You’re so young, Al. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re eighteen, you have so much time to think about what’s next,” Arthur says, soft and gentle and full of love. “Just enjoy your time with your best friend.”

“I will.”

Arthur nods. He reaches under the table to pull out a different rucksack, same colours and details but with SHM embossed on the front instead. “For Scorpius. Tell him to put… ingredients in it, or something. He still wants to become a Healer, right?”

“Yeah. He’s been working on finding a place to train after we come back. I’m sure he’ll find some fancy Greek powder or Italian weed that can be used in a potion to cure something.” Albus chuckles. He wipes his eyes again, pulling away some more irritating tears that have appeared. He makes a mental note to get a hold of his emotions, he really can’t keep crying forever, but for now, he allows himself to be a bit sensitive.

“You’re both going to do so much with your lives.”

“I love you, grandpa.”

Arthur smiles. “I love you, Albus.”

⚡

**20th June**

Scorpius sits opposite Albus at the Leaky Cauldron, fingertips idly stirring a spoon in his mug of tea. He takes intermittent bites from a pasty the two of them are sharing, and Albus can’t help but stare at him. It’s late in the day, past six in the evening by this point, and they had agreed to meet up here after their first days at work to see how things were going.

It had been weird adjusting to life without Scorpius, even if it was only for a month. Knowing that there was no next year at Hogwarts to prepare for, no more nights in their dormitory panicking over potions homework. Now their lives would be… well. Albus didn’t know. Obviously for the next two months they’d see each other often; that’s kind of expected when you travel the continent with someone. But after that, when they return, Albus doesn’t know what’s in store for them. Whether they’ll move in together, like they spoke about before, or whether they’ll just see each other on the weekends. He supposes that’s a downfall to Hogwarts: they never prepare you for the awful inevitability of loneliness that appears when you leave.

“I never realised how complex admin work would be,” Scorpius is saying. He’s been filling Albus in on his first day, and Albus has been paying attention for the most part. “I just assumed it would be flick through some files, stamp some things, go deliver coffee to the Healers.”

“And it’s not that simple?”

“No!” Scorpius sighs. He blows gently on his tea, sending the steam spiralling into different splits in the air. “It’s very stressful. Having to make and organise the schedules for the Healers and making sure everyone gets their timetable so that every patient is seen is stressful. Working through the files and updating the documents while also tending to the people who come to the reception to see their family members. And the mail… Merlin. The mail is never ending.”

“The real world kind of sucks, doesn’t it?” Albus smiles.

Scorpius chuckles. “Indeed it does,” he says. “Anyway, enough about my day. How was the shop?”

“It was alright, actually. It was nice to spend time with Uncle George, since I never really get to see him except for when we’re at the Burrow. Tiring, though. Didn’t realise that standing at a till and taking coins from people all day would be so draining.” Albus shrugs.

He takes another bite from the pasty, dragging his fork through the flaky crumbs that scatter on the table.

“At least it’s only for a month.”

“Until we come back and actually have to do stuff for a living.”

Scorpius gives him a sympathetic smile. He gently kicks his shin under the table, sipping on his tea in the breaks of their conversation. “That’s the way the world works.”

“I have something for you, by the way,” Albus says, reaching under the table to pull out the rucksack for Scorpius. “Well, it’s not from me. It’s from my grandpa.”

Scorpius raises his eyebrows as he watches Albus, lips twisting into a confused frown. “Arthur? Arthur Weasley got me something?”

“He’s a sentimental person,” Albus says, handing over the rucksack. “It’s for when we’re in Europe. He got me one, too. It’s one of those bags that’s been charmed to have loads of space but never feel heavy. He told me to put artefacts in it and make a collection, like his Muggle things. He said you could put Healer-related things in there.”

“This is… so kind,” Scorpius says. Albus watches as he drags his ghostly fingertips over the initials, much like how he’d do to Albus’ knee or back when they were sitting doing work together. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll send him an owl to say thank you. I… I didn’t think he cared about me.”

“Scorp… you’re at his house basically every month. Why wouldn’t he care about you?”

Scorpius stares incredulously at Albus. “Rose, Al. Why would he care about the ex-boyfriend of his granddaughter?”

“Because you’re also the best friend, the _only_ friend, of his grandson. A fact that is quite significantly more important than the other situation.” Albus asserts.

Scorpius merely shrugs, his lip quivering into a slight smile. “I’m sorry that I made everything so complicated.”

“Come again?”

“You know, because of Rose. It made everything complicated. Between her and I, you and I. Your family and I. I know you like to act like nothing has changed, but I’m not stupid. It’s obviously different,” Scorpius says. “The fact that your grandfather had to get this gift to me by giving it to you is telling that things aren’t as simple as everyone pretends they are.”

Albus sighs. “You’re my best friend, Scorpius. My family don’t care about the Rose thing. Sure, it’s weird. But it won’t be weird forever. This,” he gestures between the two of them. “Is more significant in the long run than a relationship you had when you were a teenager. In twenty years’ time when you and I are sat here drinking Firewhisky by the gallon, nobody will care that you and Rose didn’t work out as kids.”

“You reckon we’re still going to be friends in twenty years?” Scorpius smiles.

“If you think you’re getting rid of me after everything we’ve been through, you are incredibly mistaken.”

⚡

**25th June**

_Albus,_

_Dad said yes to you coming over on the 30th to talk about the trip and spend some time at the Manor. To be honest, he sounded far too thrilled to have you coming back to the house for a while. I think he’s having Potter withdrawals, which is something I never would’ve expected from him. _

_I’ve sorted out the Portkey that’s going to get us to France for the 20th July. Apparently the _Portkey Touring Co._ set their Portkeys to go off on the top of hills away from Muggles so nobody will suspect anything, I think there’s a group of about seven of us getting this one. Dad recommended we stay in a hotel the day before so we have plenty of rest and can get to the location in plenty of time. He’s going to try and book us into a Muggle one, so we’ll see how that goes. _

_Also, this is not really relevant, but I really miss you. I forgot how weird the post-Hogwarts fog can be. I thought that without your snoring in the background I’d get some good sleep, but no. apparently I’m so used to it that without it the room just feels empty. So I’m very excited to be sleeping in the same room as you again._

_Love always,_

_Scorpius_

⚡

**29th June**

Albus sits on the end of his bed as he packs his overnight bag for his stay at the Manor. It’s not much, since he has a little collection of belongings already there. He’s had toothpaste and a toothbrush there for years, and most of the time he slips on one of Scorpius’ jumpers after spending the night. He packs mainly to create a façade that his life isn’t dedicated half to the Potter house and half to the Malfoy house.

A knock on his door, a gentle rap of knuckles over the wood, distract him from the folding of his pyjamas, “Hey,” says his dad, other hand gripping his wand to levitate two cups of tea. “Mind if I come in?”

Albus shakes his head and gestures to the bed. “Feel free.”

Harry smiles as he walks in, tentative steps that creak the floorboards. He lowers the mugs to the bedside table and files his wand back into his pocket, hesitantly perching on the bed. He watches his son delicately sort out his clothes, folding socks together and packing a couple of books for when he and Scorpius inevitably sit in silence in the Malfoy library.

“Feels a bit like I’m watching you pack for Hogwarts,” Harry says. “And then I remember you aren’t, and it makes me feel awfully old knowing my two eldest boys are done with school.”

“Well, at least you still have Lily to help pack.” Albus says. They share a glance; there is still so much unspoken between the two of them, but they’re getting better at conversation. It’s often like looking into a mirror, Albus thinks, when he looks at his dad. He knows they are different in so many ways, but there are interweaving little pieces of their personality that keep them more alike than he thinks either of them notices. Their trepidation about initiating certain types of conversation, the fragility of their emotions when they have to tackle something complex.

Albus looks at his dad and sees someone as entirely complex as himself. A fact that a few years ago would have bothered him to his core. But now, with more life experience in his pocket, Albus is grateful for their similarities.

“I don’t think watching your kids pack up bags to leave you ever gets easier,” Harry says. “Even when it’s to Hogwarts, where everything is safe… knowing they’re out of your reach is… difficult. It’s a weird mix of not wanting them to go but knowing that they’ll survive without you.”

“Well, you taught us to survive. All three of us have done well so far.” Albus smiles.

Harry chuckles. “I know. It’s hard to explain,” he says. “I just remember when you were born, and you were so tiny, and I could never imagine you being so grown and mature and independent. Time flies, sure, but it just blows my mind that you’re not my little boy anymore.”

“Um,” Albus says. “Any reason that today is a super sentimental conversation kind of day?”

“James may have mentioned that you thought you were disappointing us by going away for a while…”

“Did he-? Seriously? I’m going to kill–”

“Albus, no,” Harry interrupts. “You don’t mean that.”

“That was a private conversation.”

“About things that concern me and your mother,” Harry says. “I know we still aren’t completely there with the communication thing, and I know that’s something we’ll be working on for years. But you can talk to me, Albus. I wish you would talk to me, especially about this sort of stuff.”

“I just worry that you’re going to get angry at me or something. Not angry, that’s the wrong word. Just… agitated, maybe? Because all the problems feel so childish in my mind, and I don’t want us to go off at each other, because we do that a lot,” Albus says, feeling himself begin to ramble. “You tell me all the time I could never disappoint you, but I still feel like it, because that’s what I do. And I don’t want us to go round and round all the time.”

Harry sighs. “I’ll say it a thousand times if I have to, Al. You never disappoint me. Ever. I know you won’t believe me, but maybe if I say it enough it might start to mean something,” he says. “This… trip. It’s different, I know. I didn’t expect it, nor did your mum. I don’t think any of us did. I’m not sure what we expected, but a month off in Europe definitely wasn’t at the top of our list. But _this_ will be the making of you, Al. This is something _you_ want to do, something you’ve chosen. It’s your life, and you’re making a go of it. And I am so excited for you. You don’t belong in a Ministry office, you belong in the world. Exploring. Living. This will be the best month of your life, and I can’t wait to hear about it when you get back.”

Albus nods. He picks up his mug and takes a sip, glancing over at his dad. “I’ll get there eventually, dad,” he says. “With the talking thing. It’s just difficult to train myself to be a certain way when I’ve spent forever being the opposite. But I do trust you, and I do love you. And I’m really excited for what’s coming for us.”

Harry smiles. “Me too... I’ll leave you to it. I know you like packing alone.” He says.

“Wait,” Albus interrupts, locking his hand on top of his dad’s. “You’ve always been better at folding clothes than me. Fancy helping?”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh, “I’d love nothing more.”

⚡

**30th June**

The peacocks that reside on the Malfoy property are some of Albus’ favourite animals. Elegant, confident: animals that act the same way the Malfoy’s do. The manor always intimidates him, the grand hallways and high ceilings, stark colours that ooze nothing but chill and nervousness. It’s not like the Burrow, or his family house, where everything is cosy and warm and there are sweet patterns on the walls and clutter to make the place lived in. The Manor is sparse and intricate, everything has a very specific place and nothing is purchased without being thought out well in advance. Footsteps will echo for days as you pass through the corridors and the rooms are filled with an eerie chill in the evenings when you head out for a glass of water, but Albus loves it nonetheless.

He loves two rooms in particular: Scorpius’ room and Astoria’s library. He thinks he likes them because they have personality and vibrancy. The furniture and books in Astoria’s library echo her voice even though she isn’t around. He didn’t get to know her very well, only met her a couple of times when he went to the Manor on occasion and saw her on the Platform, but he knew she was a special person. Someone that glowed with love and safety, someone who Scorpius loved dearly. And he thinks her library shows that very well. There are little photos of baby Scorpius and new dad Draco on the wall and on the fireplace. Bookmarks made by her and Scorpius from when he was younger are on a little table beside the chair, and books upon books fill crisp white shelves around the room. He sees a lot of Scorpius in Astoria, but then realises that it’s technically the other way around. That there’s a lot of Astoria in Scorpius and, _Merlin_, he wishes he got the chance to know her more.

And then Scorpius’ room… is possibly one of his favourite places in the world. He picked the smallest of the rooms in the manor, tucked just a few doors down from the library, and he’s decorated it intricately with snippets of his personality. There are bookshelves, obviously, that are filled with his favourite fiction books and history books and little trinkets he’s collected over the years. He’s dangled lights from the ceiling and painted constellations on one of his walls, a project he and Albus did a few years ago, and walking in to the room is basically like entering a capsule of Scorpius’ life. There are moving photos pinned to a board of his family and his friends and his favourite animals, peacock-patterned blankets on the bed and rugs on the floor. Even a couple of Quidditch posters hiding behind his wardrobe.

The two of them are on the floor of Astoria’s library, where they spend most of their time, sifting through Muggle tourist guides and magic history books about all the countries they’re planning to visit. Scorpius gently rolls the corner of a book page between his fingertips as he bites on the end of a pencil, and Albus smiles at the familiar sight of sophisticated Scorpius focusing on a serious task. He scribbles onto some parchment little details about places they could go and things they could see, and Albus gets more distracted than he should looking at his friend.

“You said James is going to give us a place to stay in Spain?” Scorpius asks, snapping Albus out of his little admiring session.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He has an apartment in Barcelona and he wants us to see him,” he says. “He has a new girlfriend, though. So it might be cramped.”

“He has a girlfriend?” Scorpius asks, sputtering a laugh out.

Albus grins. “I know. She’s a Muggle. I squeezed it out of him the other day. I imagine he told her about the whole magic thing, since his job is flying a broomstick everywhere.”

“That’s so cute,” Scorpius says, “And that means we don’t need to find a hostel for Spain. Should give us some more money for activities.”

“Have we planned how we’re getting from each place? If we need any Muggle money I need to talk to mum and dad about getting some of our wages exchanged. That’s if we’re doing Muggle transport.” Albus says. He pulls a blanket further around his shoulders, skin rippling with goose bumps as a chill fills the late night air.

“Well it’s a Portkey to get to France. Then I say we rent broomsticks to get to Spain since it isn’t that far. I’ll have to work out how we get to Switzerland, but when we’re there I heard that the Muggle transport is impeccable so we can do trains there. I think it’s mainly make it up as we go along, but we should get a mix of Muggle and normal money.” Scorpius explains. He brushes his fingertips through the faux fur carpet underneath them, eyes wandering around the room.

Albus nods, scribbling a few things down onto his piece of parchment. The silence opposite him is unusual, and when he glances back at Scorpius he sees him intently staring at something behind him in the room. “What you looking at? Is there a ghost creeping up on me, or something?”

Scorpius chuckles. “No, loser,” he says. “There’s just… there’s a map on the wall behind you. Turn, look at it. On my parent’s honeymoon they went to the States and picked up this map. Apparently Muggles stick pins in all the places they’ve gone, so mum thought it would be fun to do the same thing. They brought it back and mum always told me they planned to stick pins all over it.”

Albus pivots midway through Scorpius’ sentence and looks at the map. There are a few pins sparsely dotted around the paper; there’s one in England, one in the States and a few in Europe and Australia. But, for the most part, there’s a lot of empty space.

“And I guess planning all of this,” Scorpius nods at all the tourist guides in front of them. “Just makes me realise that there was so much she didn’t get to do. Like, by the time we get back from this little month off we’d have more pins to put in the map than my mum had in her whole life. It’s a weird feeling.”

Albus doesn’t know what to say, he’s never really been good with advice, so he just reaches over their puddle of papers and pulls Scorpius into a hug instead. His chin restores its rightful place on Scorpius’ shoulder, and their arms weave effortlessly back to where they belong.

“Well… maybe we can get different coloured pins and stick them in alongside theirs. Two different adventures, you know?” Albus says, quiet as the two of them dissolve into a singular entity.

Scorpius sniffs; Albus tightens his grip on his friend. “Yeah. That sounds good,” Scorpius says. He pulls back after a few moments but stays close to Albus, close enough that Albus can feel his raggedy breaths on his face. “It’s just difficult to realise that the rest of my life is in front of me without worrying that I’ll waste it.”

“You won’t waste it.”

“Am I interrupting?” Draco appears at the door. He has a packet of toffees in one hand and an envelope in the other. His hair is down and he’s dressed for bed, silk pyjamas hidden underneath an immaculate black dressing gown.

Scorpius quickly swipes a hand over his face to wipe away the tears and beckons his dad into the room. “Not at all. We’re just trying to figure out how to fit the entire history of five different countries into a month.”

“Wouldn’t it be ideal if you had a time turner? You feel like you need an extra day you can just… spin it back and start again.”

“I think we’d find a way to end the world if we ever came into contact with a time turner again.” Albus jokes, making space on the floor for Draco to sit beside them.

Draco crosses his legs as he sits himself down, placing the toffee between them and holding the envelope to his chest still. “You definitely would,” he laughs. “You know, I’ve heard there’s a large history of Dark Magic in Greece. It’s sort of my responsibility to know about these things, I’ve heard there’s lots of artefacts and stuff like that.”

“Are you suggesting that we go and get ourselves arrested in Greece for meddling in Dark Magic?” Scorpius asks, gently flicking his dad’s cheek.

Draco laughs. “It was merely a suggestion for what to do with your time,” he says, pausing before continuing. “I have… some things to give you. The toffee is just something sweet and sugary to keep you going into the night. But this envelope… has things in it I want you to have. Both of you.”

Albus watches as Scorpius takes the envelope and pulls out several things. Some sheets of parchment, some photographs, and a chain – that looks like a necklace or bracelet – make up the contents. Scorpius’ face softens and falls at the sight of something in his hands, and Albus cranes his neck slightly to try and see what has his best friend frowning.

“Albus, your parents and I have been talking about this trip for a while and thought it would be nice to give you two something to get you started. Obviously, I’ve sorted the hotel for the night before you travel. But we wanted to make sure that when you get to France you’re both going to be alright. So the three of us chipped in to book you in to a nice apartment in Paris. You’re going to be travelling around the country, I know, but we wanted you to have a nice place to sleep for your first stop,” Draco says, watching as Scorpius sifts through the materials. “The photographs are things to remind you of home. Some of your mum, Scorpius. Some of your family, Albus. Just things to look at if you’re feeling homesick or need a reminder that if you’re struggling you can reach out to us. And the chain, well… It is your mother’s wedding band, Scorpius. You don’t have to take it, I know it’s a very big thing to take from the house. But I want you to have a piece of her wherever you go, and with it on a chain I think you can keep it close to you all the time. It’s up to you.”

Scorpius drags his fingers over the band, the chain pooling in his palm along with a few stray tears that have trickled down his cheeks in the midst of Draco’s little speech. The three of them sit in silence, and something passes between them. It’s a chilly breeze, but it drags them all together in some way. They all stare at the necklace, then at the toffee, then to the necklace again.

“Thank you, dad,” Scorpius finally says. “For all of this. It means a lot.” He reaches over the circle to hug Draco. Albus watches from the outside, but then decides he’d rather be involved. He gives Draco and Scorpius a moment to themselves before joining in the hug, wrapping his arms around them and resting his head on Scorpius’ shoulder.

Draco holds them tightly, impossibly tight. Scorpius shakes a little to his side, and both of them hold him tighter. There’s another presence in this room. Albus can’t put his finger on how he knows there is something comforting filling the room, he can just tell.

So the three of them sit there for a while, wrapped up in each other’s arms, safe and happy and at home in the safe haven Astoria carved out of this delicate room in the manor.

⚡

**3rd July**

_Scorpius,_

_Asked James about staying with him in Spain and he properly agreed. He’s asked his girlfriend, her name is Sofia apparently, and she’s okay with it. Mum suggested we just turn up on the day for train tickets in Switzerland, so we should be okay. She’s also taught me a few basic recipes so we can cook some nights instead of going out every day. Should save us some money. _

_I think we’re pretty much sorted in terms of itinerary. It’s all starting to feel a bit real now isn’t it? Slightly terrifying. But really exciting. _

_I miss you, as always. I can’t wait to traipse through Europe with you, doing dorky shit and being losers where nobody knows us. It’s going to be a blast._

_Love you always,_

_Albus_

⚡

**7th July **

“So you’re going where?” George asks. He’s cashing up the till after a day of work, scribbling things down on a sheet of parchment so he knows what to restock for the morning. Albus sits on the counter and swings his legs back and forth, fingers fiddling with the name badge pinned to the orange-coloured uniform he has to wear. Ron is somewhere else in the shop running around and tidying up products that have fallen out of place during the day’s business, but overall the building is uncharacteristically quiet. Charms on certain products have been removed, the pygmy puffs sleep in their cages, and everything is silent.

Except for their conversation.

“We’re starting in France, then heading down to Spain. Getting to Switzerland somehow, then down to Italy, round to Greece and then coming back. It’s only short, but we also don’t have a lot of money. So we’re doing the month and seeing how it goes, then if we love it we might do a different route. Scorpius is really interested in doing an African trip, since that’s something he can’t find much information about in books.” Albus explains, fingers gently brushing through the fur of a pygmy puff he cradles in his hand.

George nods along to the conversation, multitasking between doing mental maths and interacting with his nephew. “That sounds really cool, Al. I would’ve loved to have done something like that. Just… visited places I’d never been. We got to go on the trip to Egypt, has your mum told you about that? That was amazing. Angelina and I always talk about going on holiday but we can never find time.”

“I think that’s my worry,” Albus says. “Running out of time. So I’m trying to fit it in now when I have no other responsibilities.”

“You’re such a Weasley, you know that?”

Albus smirks. “I know.”

⚡

**12th July**

Albus starts packing his bag way earlier than necessary. He stands in front of his wardrobe and sifts through jumpers and shirts and trousers and everything he’s ever worn in his life. Ginny keeps telling him that size doesn’t matter and that they can shrink things down to fit in. But Albus refuses; he’s vehemently against using magic on his belongings out of fear he won’t be able to replicate the spells when they’re out in the world. Sure, Scorpius could do it for him, but he’d rather not have to depend on anyone else to pack his bag.

Albus draws his eyebrows together when he sees an unfamiliar jumper hanging in his wardrobe, smiling as he pulls out the Barcelona Bicorns one James had been wearing before. Pinned on the back is a note that reads _just give it back to me when you see me in Spain x_, and he makes sure to find a special place for it in his bag.

Scorpius sends him a few letters reminding him to pack certain things – like an umbrella, because Albus forgot those were a necessity – and he apparates to the Potter house in the evenings so they can talk on Albus’ floor and find comfort in each other that they can’t elsewhere.

Albus’ mum appears one night when they’re quietly bickering over whether to pack some cooking supplies or to depend on what the hostels and hotels will provide for them. She gently pushes his door open without asking and Scorpius only manages to scuttle a few feet away before she sees him.

“You can’t hide from me, Malfoy. I know you’ve been coming here for days now,” Ginny smiles, arms crossed over her chest to keep herself warm in Albus’ cool room. “You know you’re welcome here, right? You don’t have to sneak over in the middle of the night.”

Scorpius flushes and shrugs as Ginny joins them on the floor. He scoots back to Albus’ side, where he belongs (in Albus’ opinion), and the three of them smile at each other in the orange glow that is cast on their faces from the candle.

“I know. I just… I don’t know. I don’t want to be a bother.” Scorpius says.

“You could never be a bother,” Ginny scolds. “Sometimes I think you two are the oddest match. Sure, you have things in common but your personalities are so different that I always find myself wondering how you paired up. But then you say something like _that_, Scorpius, and I realise you two are absolutely identical. Both unaware of how wonderful you are.”

Albus and Scorpius smile to the ground. Simultaneously.

“Also, I don’t think you should pack cooking equipment. It’ll just take up space in your bags. You might not have plates and cutlery everywhere you go, but all the hotels should at least have enough for you to make the basics. A lot of food can be made without a cooker, so you should be okay.” Ginny explains, fingers brushing over the maps and books spread out in front of them.

“Why are you awake, mum?” Albus asks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ginny says. “Kept thinking about you two and it kept me up.”

“Us?” Scorpius adds.

“Thinking about how fast seven years have gone,” she continues. “I just look at you two and think, Merlin, time has flown and you’re both so grown and sweet and _adult_. When James was born my parents told me that time would fly faster than I could imagine, and that I should stop complaining about him being a difficult baby and appreciate these days while he needs me. Then I had you, and they said the same thing. That I should make the most of you wanting to be cuddled by your mother, and enjoy having you under my roof, tucked up in that bed. Because the time will come when you’ll leave and you won’t come back. And I thought for the longest time they were exaggerating, but… look at you now.”

“I’m coming back, mum,” Albus says. “This isn’t forever.”

“But it’s the beginning of it,” Ginny smiles. “I miss those days when you were a sweet three year old who would make daisy chains and accidently levitate them without knowing what you were doing. And then I get mad at myself because I realise that these years, these beginning years of the rest of your life, are going to be amazing. Even if you don’t need me anymore.”

“I’m always going to need you,” Albus says. “Just… not in the same ways.”

Scorpius sniffs from beside him. Albus and Ginny immediately switch their gazes to look at him, both of them not having realised how what they were talking about would have affected him.

“Oh, my. Scorpius, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” Ginny begins.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine, honestly,” Scorpius says. And even though there are tears in his eyes Albus believes him. “It’s not anything to do you two, I promise. It’s just that… conversations like this make me wonder how my mother felt when she realised she wouldn’t get to see this part of my life.”

“Scorp…” Albus murmurs.

“No, honestly. I’m not upset. It’s, uh, it’s good to talk about it,” Scorpius shrugs. “It’s just so horribly cruel that she had time to understand that all of this was out of her reach. She got weaker as I got older and I… I wonder all the time what was going on in her mind when she realised she had to teach me a lifetime of lessons in a fraction of the time to make sure I’d be okay.”

“Being a mother,” Ginny says, voice shaky and quiet and full of sympathy. “Is a very hard thing. It’s stressful, and it’s painful, and it’s emotional. But the reassuring part is that you know, or you think, you have an entire life to get it right. And I think, Scorpius, that Astoria was a perfect mother. Because she managed to get it right, she mothered you _perfectly_, with only a few years at hand.”

Scorpius nods sadly, letting Ginny wrap him up in a gentle hug over the candle. Albus pulls the flame out the way and sets it on his bedside table, drowning the three of them into a gentle darkness.

“I think she’d be really excited for me,” Scorpius finally says. “Sending me off to Europe with the greatest friend in the world. Everything possible for me.”

“She’d be very excited for you.” Albus adds.

“And endlessly proud.” Ginny finishes.

⚡

**19th July**

“So you’ve got your Muggle passports?” Draco asks, fingers gently brushing through Scorpius’ hair.

“Yes.” He and Albus say together.

“And you’ve notified the French authorities that you’re coming?” Ginny adds.

“_Yes._” Albus sighs.

“And money? Emergency money? Your wands?” Harry asks.

“We have everything,” Scorpius says. He pulls Draco’s hands from his hair and holds them instead. “And we’ve triple-checked. We’ll be fine.”

The five of them are stood on the side of the road outside the Potter’s house, a gentle wash of summer rain splashing in their faces and pattering over their luggage. Albus and Scorpius have their personalised rucksacks on their back and two carry-ons by their side, both wrapped up in light layers for the journey ahead. The plan is to take the Knight Bus to their Muggle hotel before heading to the Portkey, but their parents insisted on sending them off since they wouldn’t see them for a month.

“We’re going to miss you, Albus.” Harry says, wrapping his arms around his son and Ginny to pull them into a hug. Draco does the same with Scorpius, and for a moment the two families float in their own world. Their own, fragile world. Them against everyone else.

Albus refuses to let himself cry. He’s been working on controlling his emotions, and this isn’t a sad occasion. This is a time of opportunity. A chance to step into the world, step into the daylight, and _begin_.

“I’m going to miss you, too. I’ll send postcards everywhere we go.” Albus says. He glances over at Scorpius and Draco and watches at they both hold the necklace with Astoria’s wedding band on it. Draco kisses it before letting it fall against Scorpius’ shirt, and Albus quickly looks away as to not intrude on a clearly intimate moment.

“Have the best time,” Ginny says once the hugs have finished and the two teens stand opposite their parents. “Be safe, look after each other.”

“We will,” Scorpius promises. “As long as it’s me and him… nothing will stop us.”

Then they hold their wands up to summon the bus and, just like that, they’re gone.

⚡

“Motorway was absolutely packed on the way up here,” a Muggle says. “Took us hours to get here. Thought we were going to miss our check-in time.”

“God, I know. Think there was a car crash at one of the junctions,” the person behind the desk, dressing in a pale blue shirt with a stripy necktie wound around their collar, answers while tapping on something that Albus doesn’t recognise. “Hopefully it clears soon or else the taxis to the airport will take hours.”

“Blooming traffic.”

The person behind the desk laughs. Scorpius shifts uncomfortably next to Albus. “Of course. Have a nice stay, sir,” she says. The Muggle in front of them moves, and the lady stares the two of them in the eye. “Good afternoon, welcome to the hotel. What name is the booking under?”

Scorpius and Albus stumble up to the counter, and Scorpius rifles through his rucksack to try and find the confirmation e-mail (whatever _that_ is) that his dad had given to them a few days ago. “Um… Malfoy.”

“Malfoy…” She says. “Interesting name.” She smiles as she clicks her fingernails over the board in front of her, a thing that looks like a type-writer but with flat keys and no paper.

Scorpius accidentally drops his rucksack on the ground and hurries to pick up the books that slip onto the floor. Albus ducks down to help him, but he knows for certain that the Muggle behind them saw the book titled _Magickal Monsters of South-Eastern Greece_, and he just hopes they don’t think too much about it.

“Malfoy. One night, two people?” The lady says, to which Albus and Scorpius nod. “Right. Your room is on the third floor, 304. Breakfast isn’t included but can be added on in the morning, just come down and pay at the bar. Here is your key, the elevator is through the door on the left.”

Albus smiles as he takes the key, shouldering his bag alongside Scorpius. They head to the door on the left and Albus tries to shoulder through it before realising it isn’t open. He tries again, pushing and then pulling, but nothing happens. He looks at Scorpius, who stares back in confusion.

“I… um. How do I open this?” Albus whispers.

Scorpius steps up and tries to push the door open too, rattling the handle without success. A few Muggles in the reception give them funny looks but don’t do anything, and the two of them stand there like headless chickens until the lady from reception leans over the desk.

“Um, boys. You enter the key card into the slot? And the door opens?” She says, as if it’s common sense.

Scorpius grabs the key from Albus and fumbles with it, inserting it both ways into the reader until it opens and they stumble through together. It’s only when they’re in the elevator, slowly rising up and up and up, that they look at each other.

“So… going well so far.” Albus says.

And then they laugh. Sweet, melodic giggles that blend into a gorgeous harmony in the elevator. Because if this is where they stumble, if their first failed hurdle is operating a Muggle door, then they know they’re in for the adventure of a lifetime.

⚡

**20th July**

Albus wakes early in the morning and flicks the kettle on to make Scorpius and himself some tea. The Portkey, apparently a rusty old umbrella, doesn’t activate until 11:34, and they’d calculated yesterday that it would take about fifteen minutes to walk to the clearance.

He pulls back the curtains ever so slightly and stares at the rising sun, the only sound in the room being the rumbling of the kettle and the gentle exhales of Scorpius sleeping soundly in the bed. He watches as Muggles lift suitcases into the boot of their cars and drive off down the roads, and as birds fly from the trees into the pinky-blue swirling coloured sky. Albus can imagine the chilly air biting at bare ankles and shrill calls from magpies stinging delicate, morning ears. He can imagine it all, and he is desperate to finally get out into the world.

The kettle boils and he fills up two mugs to the brim, mixing a little milk and two sugars into his and lots of milk with no sugar for Scorpius. He unwraps a little chocolate biscuit they’d also been provided and sets it next to Scorpius’ mug, crossing his legs on the bed beside his best friend as he gently wakes him up.

“Hey, Scorp,” Albus says, voice soft and delicate in the silence. “Morning, sunshine.”

Scorpius winces in his sleep, sniffing his sleepiness away as his eyes peel open one at a time. The splattering of sun that spills through the lace blinds paints Scorpius’ cheeks with golden freckles, dots that complement the light brown ones already dusting his face. He really is rather beautiful, Albus thinks. But then it strikes him that maybe he shouldn’t think his best friend is beautiful. Because that isn’t what a best friend feels.

Albus doesn’t have long to ponder this complicated thought as Scorpius soon wakes up properly and sits up against the backboard. His sleeves are pulled over his fingertips and he smiles lazily over at Albus. “Hey,” his voice is croaky, scratchy with the remnants of sleep that he tries to wash away with a clearing of his throat. Albus nods to the tea on the bedside table and Scorpius takes a generous swig before continuing. “What’s got you up so early?”

“Excitement.” Albus says.

“It is a rather thrilling day, isn’t it?” Scorpius smiles, dunking the biscuit into his tea. He takes a bite, eating about half, and then offers the remaining part to Albus. Their fingertips graze as he takes it, and they smile at each other.

“I’ve already washed and packed up, so the bathroom is all yours when you’re ready. We should probably head out just before eleven so we can get there in plenty of time.”

“You’re very organised today, aren’t you?” Scorpius jokes, head delicately tilting to the side as they talk.

Albus shrugs. “I just can’t wait to finally get out there. Just think about, before noon today we’re going to be in Paris, Scorp. _Paris_.”

Scorpius playfully prods Albus’ side, lips curved into a grin. “You planning on picking up some French girl, or something? Getting to the city of love have you all riled up and thrilled?”

“Bore off, loser,” Albus chuckles, though his cheeks do tint ever so slightly red. “I’m planning on having the best time with my best friend. That’s my intention, not sneaking off at midnight for a snog on a bridge, or something like that.”

Scorpius grins at Albus and finishes his tea, setting the mug back on the table. He spirals out of the bed and heads over to where his bag is, bending down to pull out something normal-looking to wear for their journey. Albus watches as he heads into the bathroom looking like a raggedy Chihuahua, yet comes out in a royal blue jumper tucked, at the front, into impossibly skinny jeans, looking a bit like a long-lost prince.

“Why are you staring?” Scorpius asks.

Albus shrugs. “You look nice, is all.”

Scorpius flushes this time. He flicks his fringe out his face and busies himself with packing his pyjamas away to distract from the colour on his cheeks, leaving Albus to attempt to make the bed. Back at Hogwarts their beds would be made up by themselves by the time they returned from breakfast or their lessons. His haphazard attempt looks most untidy, but, in Albus’ mind, he’s given it a go.

They headed down for breakfast with their bags in their arms, paying for their meals, which came to a total of £13.98, in a variety of coins; Albus handed over some two pound coins and a handful of fifty pence pieces while Scorpius added a variety of two and five pence amounts to try and reach the total. The Muggle at the counter stared confusedly at them, and told them not to worry when they were still seventy-three pence short.

They leave just before eleven, as planned, and cheerily bump into each other’s sides after they check out and begin their walk to the clearing. They follow the directions carefully, finding comfort in footprints left in the dirt tracks that assure them that others have already walked this path to where the umbrella will be. When they arrive, at 11:27, seven minutes early, the rest of the wizards are already there.

They all greet each other with friendly glances and morning salutations, though mainly stick to themselves. He and Scorpius flick through their map to plan their route for when they get to France, their fingertips gliding over little red lines and occasionally overlapping as they debate whether the dotted black lines mean pedestrian pathway or something else.

One wizard whistle to them at 11:35 and everyone surrounds the umbrella, one hand touching part of the object. Albus and Scorpius are pressed to each other’s sides, their flush cheeks and wide eyes alight at the knowledge that this was finally happening. They are _going_.

The first part of the journey of the rest of their lives.

11:36.

Their grip tightens on the umbrella and the air swells with a sense of expectation and nervousness. Albus doesn’t feel nervous, though. Because when he looks to his right, to watch his best friend, and sees the excitement burning in the eyes of Scorpius, he knows that everything will be okay.

There’s something youthful, something _eager_, in the way Scorpius smiles. The corners of his mouth twitch in nervous anticipation of what is to come. And… _Merlin_. He looks so much like he did on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. Young, alight with nervousness but an equal measure of joy knowing he was about to be going somewhere that he could live.

And at that moment, in the dying seconds between 11:36 and 11:37, Albus realises he was silly to ever feel sad about the Hogwarts journey ending. Silly to shed tears over leaving the castle and worrying that things would never be the same again. Because, despite the logistics, nothing is really that different at all. He’s still a fresh-faced, complicated boy nervous to embark on this journey to the rest of his life, and he’s still stood next to the bright-eyed, equally complicated boy who turned his world upside down and showed him that at the end of the day, as long as he has Scorpius by his side, the world will never be a murky, lonely place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chat w/ me on tumblr @dustyspines!


	2. france

**20th July**

Albus feels sick. It’s as if there is someone scratching behind his navel and trying to turn his entire digestive system inside out. He doesn’t remember landing in Paris or letting go of the umbrella, but he obviously did given the fact he’s now lying on the concrete floor of what looks to be a discreet, hidden alleyway.

The rest of the wizards who were using the Portkey, including Scorpius, all are on the floor too, none of them capable of landing properly. Albus’ ankle stings a little; he swipes his thumb over the area where it hurts and winces as his calloused skin scratches over a cut and pulls back blood. He doesn’t know who had the bright idea to have the end destination of the Portkey be a concrete floor, but he would rather like to have a conversation with them about it at some point in the near future.

“_Episkey_,” suddenly Scorpius is next to him, wand peeking out from his coat sleeve, and the cut on his ankle is gradually fading away. “You okay? Merlin knows why we’re in an alley, but I’m pretty sure everyone got battered and bruised on that landing.”

Albus manages a chuckle and accepts Scorpius’ hand to get him back on his feet. Gradually everyone else resumes normal life and breaks off to their original groups, leaving the two of them alone in the alleyway. The smell of cinnamon and sound of revving engines whistle past them as they stare at each other, quietly coming to terms with the fact that they are _here_. Paris, France.

Scorpius fumbles through the contents of his bag to pull out a Muggle map. He flicks through the pages to find where they are, glancing up at the road-signs and building names they pass as they stumble out the alleyway into a broad, sun-kissed street. Scorpius squints at the map, fingertip dragging over different-coloured intersecting lines until he stops, aggressively tapping one tiny dot in the corner of the page.

“We are here,” he says. “We’re on _Rue Antoine Vollon_, and that’s _Le Square Trousseau._”

Albus swoons a little over Scorpius’ accent. He adores the inflection and the softness of Scorpius’ voice so much he doesn’t even stop to question why he likes it. He knew Scorpius could speak French, he’d heard plenty of stories about the Malfoy family holidays to their Chateaux over the many Hogwarts Christmas breaks. But this time, absorbed in the colours of France and the feeling of freedom swimming in his veins, the accent resonates a little differently.

“That’s great, I truly love sightseeing and all that, but I’m starving and would quite like to be at our apartment eating lunch,” Albus says. He rises to his tiptoes to peek over Scorpius’ shoulder at the map, but the language makes no sense to him and, honestly, the map just looks like a piece of abstract art Lily would make by cutting up issues of the Prophet. “So please put your pretty mind to use and get us there.”

“You know,” Scorpius says, pocketing the map after he’s worked out a route. “You have your uses, you do. You’re great at cooking, and making potions, and knowing all about magical creatures. But if you were ever stranded by yourself somewhere, you would definitely die out there.”

Albus shrugs with a smile. “Maybe so,” he says. “But I’d never be stranded anywhere because I’m always going to be with you.”

“You sure?” Scorpius grins.

“Positive.”

They bump shoulders and gaze with enthusiastic eyes at the buildings as they walk through the tightly-packed Parisian streets. Their shoes scratch on the pavements and fingertips gently brush over petals of flowers they’ve never seen before. Albus listens intently to the conversations of people who pass by even though he doesn’t understand them, and smiles to himself when he catches Scorpius’ expression twisting into different emotions as he mentally translates the sentences. At one point they pass a couple, a girl with knee-high boots and a floral dress and a boy in dark double denim, and Scorpius’ face contorts into a displeased, almost sickening, frown. Albus giggles beside him which results in a gentle elbow to the stomach, but he doesn’t care.

They’re in Paris. Scorpius could break his ankles and he still wouldn’t care.

⚡

(Okay, so maybe he would care since he wouldn’t be able to walk if that happened. But still: Paris.)

⚡

Their apartment is tucked away from Muggles in an almost impossible fashion. The building is situated at the junction of Rue de Bercy and Rue Traversière, a little community section in the 12th arrondissement where the buildings are all attached to each other and the signs for the hotels dangle sweetly in the slight, summer breeze.

The two of them can’t find the place at first. Albus insists that they’re at the wrong road since there’s no reasonable explanation for why the number of their apartment doesn’t exist. The buildings skip from 234 to 236, leaving 235 non-existent. Which is inconvenient given that’s the address they need.

But then Scorpius spots a slim door, barely thirty centimetres wide, peeking through the guttering. Albus swears it wasn’t there before – they’d been staring at the wall for ages so there was no way they’d miss it – but he can’t deny that the door is there, and that the number 235 glimmers in bronze on a black plaque hanging off the handle.

“I know magic is wonderful and mysterious and everything,” Albus says. “But I’m hoping you understand that there’s no way I’m going through that door.”

“What? Why?” Scorpius asks.

Albus scares incredulously at his companion. “Because it’s a tiny door that has appeared out of nowhere conveniently when we were about to give up. You don’t think that’s suspicious at all?”

“I think it’s like the Room of Requirement back at Hogwarts. It’s clearly charmed to not be seen by Muggles, so it’s showing itself to us now it knows we really want to see it,” Scorpius argues, slapping his hands comically together to illustrate his point. “Nothing is going to hurt us here, Al. I’m more worried about how we’re going to fit through the tiny door with our bags rather than if there’s some evil ghoul on the other side plotting to kill us.”

“How about,” Albus poses. “I stay out here with the bags and you go in, meet the owners and all that, and then I’ll pass the bags in one by one.”

Scorpius glares at him. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m offering a solution to your problem.”

“_No_,” Scorpius counters. “You’re refusing to go through the nice tiny door and are making me do it by myself.”

Albus fumbles with his words. “I… no. I’m telling you to go first because you speak French and I don’t,” he says. It’s true, so he isn’t technically lying, but it’s still an excuse that he feels moderately bad for making. “It makes sense.”

Scorpius huffs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Albus simply smiles, yelping as Scorpius tosses his bag into his chest. He watches nervously as Scorpius heads up to the door, crouching to fit through the gap. His slim build lets him fit effortlessly through the archway and the door falls shut with a heavy thud once he enters.

Albus fiddles with his watchstrap as he waits. He watches some birds fly past with twigs between their beaks and apologises for standing in the way of the pavement when an elderly couple hobble past with their walking-sticks. The air is warm yet light as it caresses his cheeks and flutters the rolled up sleeves of his jacket; he very much wants to step out of the shadows of the buildings into the rectangle of lush sunlight in the centre of the road, but before he has chance to spontaneously run into a _road_ (stupid idea, probably) Scorpius reappears through the doorway.

“Hey,” Scorpius says. A rusted key dangles from his index finger, swinging idly around as Scorpius cocks his head and beckons Albus towards him. “You’re gonna love this place.”

They play a convoluted game of pass the parcel to get their bags through the tiny door, and once Albus steps foot in the foyer he is once again reminded at how incredible magic can be.

The door opens straight into a peach-scented sitting room. A fireplace glows in the centre of a white-wall, the mantle covered in different glass pieces that look a lot to Albus like empty perfume bottles. Crisp cream sofas and seats outline a dark coffee table, frilly cushions immaculately fluffed and placed symmetrically on the chairs. A tabby cat sleeps soundly next to the fire, fur covering in cinders and ash from the burning wood. A spiral staircase is to their right, glinting under the charmed lightbulbs that hover in the air, which Albus assumes leads to the bedroom. There is a narrow corridor in front of them, several doors leading off to different directions, and he can spot a kitchen at the end of the little walk. Portraits hang emptily on the walls, all perfectly aligned and visibly cleaned, and the frames ooze a similar elegance that the entire building appears to have.

Albus can’t work out how all of this exquisite interior fits into the thirty centimetre gap but then, he thinks, it’s magic. And he’s not supposed to understand how magic works.

“_Bonjour!_” A lady appears from the kitchen. A tea towel is slung over her shoulder, scalloped-edge apron wrapped around her waist. Her accent is as thick as he imagines Scorpius’ is thin, and she reminds him so intently of his Aunt Fleur. Perhaps there’s just something about French witches and wizards that make them seem… ethereal.

“Bonjour,” Albus repeats. The accent is uncomfortable on his tongue and the lady looks at him to confirm that fact, but he’s trying his best. “It’s nice to meet you… I mean, um. Je suis… uh.”

Scorpius snickers beside him and gently bumps their knuckles together. “Enchanté, Al,” he whispers. “But Madam Beaulieu speaks English.”

“Oh, right.” Albus says, sheepishly hiding behind Scorpius.

Madam Beaulieu smiles him, tongue poking through ever so slightly between her teeth. “You two are darling,” she says. Albus loves the way she speaks English, possibly more than the way she speaks French. He’s been here for less than an hour and Albus already thinks he could stay in France forever. “Welcome to _L’hotel Demi-Lune_. Even though we aren’t really a hotel. Your father made the booking, oui?”

“Oui,” Scorpius smiles. “We’re travelling for a month. Our parents booked us here so we’d have somewhere nice to stay to begin with.”

“I am honoured he chose our sweet place,” Madam Beaulieu drags the tea towel between her fingers. “My husband is out getting groceries, but you should be able to meet him later. You look exhausted, so I shall leave you to it in a moment. But just as a general welcome to the place, your room is upstairs, and you access it with the key I gave you. You have a bedroom and a bathroom up there, and the kitchen down here is for your use as well as ours. Our bedroom is the first door on the right if you ever need us. Feel free to use the sitting room, the kitchen, the garden – all of it during your stay. This is your home as well as ours.”

The two boys both smile. “Merci.” They say, coyly waving to Madam Beaulieu before heading up the spiral staircase, bags bumping on the steps as they ascend.

The bedroom somehow exceeds all of Albus’ expectations. The bed is plush and tall and sweet, covered in grey velvet sheets and decorated with various lace pillows and a lace throw. The floor is carpeted in soft white and grey shades, their footsteps silent as they place their bags at the foot of the bed and look around at their new, temporary home. The view out the window is breath taking; the building somehow towers above the rooves of the surrounding houses, showing the complicated maze of Paris in all its glory. Fluttering trees and elegant landmarks dot the landscape, and Albus peers through the lace blinds to watch the world pass by for a few moments.

“Merlin,” Scorpius happily sighs. “This bed is comfortable.”

Albus turns to look at Scorpius. He’s spread himself over the right-hand side of the bed, arms crossed behind his head and one leg dangling off the edge. He stares pensively at the ceiling, hand-painted into a design that reminds Albus vaguely of the roof of Grand Central Station in New York.

He hadn’t considered the logistics of them having to share a bed, but then again the thought didn’t bother him. Technically, he thinks, they shared a bed more often than not at Hogwarts when they would talk all evening and end up dozing off at opposite ends of one of their bunks. And even at home, either the Manor or his house, they rarely made it to their respective beds and would spend most of the nights wrapped up in blankets on the floor next to each other.

Albus bounces on the balls of his feet before leaping onto the bed next to Scorpius, letting himself fall peacefully into the mattress and gentle fur of the comforter. When he moves his head a breath of lavender oozes from the pillow, and he can’t help but release a content sigh.

“It really is,” Albus says. “Better than the Hogwarts beds.”

“Indeed.” Scorpius agrees. He lets his eyes close for a moment and Albus seizes the opportunity to glance at his friend, taking in the way his side profile glows from the sun and how he radiates almost as much light as the biggest star herself.

They lie in silence for a little while, Scorpius flat on his back and Albus curled onto his side. Albus watches Scorpius breathe, watches as he fiddles with the buckle of his belt and drags a fingernail over the stitches of his jumper. Just watches.

“Right,” Albus finally says. “I’m starving. Can we go find somewhere to eat?”

⚡

“This is cheesy.”

Scorpius huffs. “No, it isn’t.”

“It really is.”

“You said you wanted lunch. Here is lunch.”

“We look like tourists!” Albus argues.

“We _are_ tourists, you dork.”

Albus huffs.

Then looks at Scorpius and surrenders the argument. They’re sat in the _Champ de Mars_, coats laid on the grass as makeshift blankets and various pastries and sweet treats in paper bags scattered out in front of them. The Eiffel Tower stands proudly at the head of the gardens, the sun passing through the structure to paint the ground with circular shadows and paint-palette dots of gold.

The garden is packed full of other people doing the exact same thing as them, various lunches and drinks spread out on the perfect grass and a constant layer of chatter blocking out the sounds of traffic from the rest of the city. Scorpius keeps glancing up at the Tower with a look of pure euphoria flashing over his eyes; Albus thinks he’s probably looking at Scorpius with the same expression.

“I can see why it’s so famous,” Scorpius says with his mouth full. “It’s really pretty, isn’t it?”

Albus nods. “It really is.”

He picks up a tiny cake they’d bought from a patisserie on the walk from the apartment to the gardens, peeling back the paper liner so he can take a bite. The food is better here somehow. He doesn’t know how, but everything has a sweeter flavour and after a few years of Ginny restricting the sweets in the Potter household, Albus is excited to make the most of his freedom.

“Is your ankle okay now?” Scorpius asks. “I forgot to check earlier. It isn’t still hurting?”

Albus shakes his head. “It’s all good. I’m pretty sure the entire scar is gone,” he says, gently rolling up the hem of his jeans. “Yeah, all gone.”

“Maybe next time we take a Portkey I’ll try and find one that lands in a field.”

Albus giggles. He accidentally smears a little frosting on his face in the process, and Scorpius leans over to wipe it off for him. “I would definitely be a mess without you.”

“Without me?” Scorpius asks, folding the dirty napkin into one of their empty bags. “You’re still a mess with me. But we’re messes together, so it’s all good.”

Albus gently flicks Scorpius’ nose and feeds him a little bit of the cake, proceeding to fold the wrapper into a little origami bird that Scorpius had taught him how to do years ago. He’d walked into their dorm once and saw Scorpius on his bed folding sheets of spare parchment into these little birds, young face scrunched into a picture of determination. Scorpius had mentioned something about wanting to fold a thousand of them but wouldn’t tell Albus why that was his plan. So Albus just sat down next to him and started folding them, too. They never quite got to a thousand, he doesn’t think, and he still doesn’t know why Scorpius wanted to do it, but it remains a memory he adores from their time at Hogwarts.

“Want to take some pictures in front of the Tower?” Albus asks. He fumbles through his rucksack and pulls out a Muggle disposable camera Lily had given him before he left. She mentioned something about finding it at the Burrow and working some charms into it so they could make moving photographs once the film was developed.

“You have a camera?” Scorpius asks. He places all their empty wrappers and leftover food back into his bag, shuffling closer to Albus to get a look at what he was holding in his hands.

Albus nods. “Yeah. Leaving present from Lily,” he says. “It has infinite film, apparently. It’s disposable, and we can’t see the photos until they’re developed, but it should be a nice idea.”

“Sure,” Scorpius says. “Maybe we can get someone to take one of us.”

They sling their bags over their shoulders and stumble over their feet as they head closer to the tower, weaving between waves of tourists all heading in different directions. Scorpius grabs onto Albus’ sleeve as they walk, tugging on it when they almost get separated and clutching it tightly as they pass through a large group of people.

The two of them find a little clear spot on the grass, Albus playfully pushing Scorpius into position so he can take a couple of pictures. Scorpius smiles shyly, fingertips fiddling with his wavy fringe and tucking his jumper in and out of his jeans. He doesn’t quite know how to stand for photos, holding his hands in front of his chest and then behind his back and then alternating which leg he leans his weight on, so Albus just watches fondly through the viewfinder.

“Scorp,” he says between sweet bubbles of laughter. “Stop fidgeting. Just put your hands in your pockets if they’re bothering you.”

Scorpius flushes and proceeds to take another thirty seconds fidgeting to subside the colour on his cheeks. He ends up hanging one arm to his side and crossing the other over his chest to hold his wrist and, _Merlin_, he looks adorable. Albus winds up the camera until it clicks and takes a few photos of him, and the process starts all over again as they swap places.

Albus is better with photographs – he’s had to sit for his fair share of extensive family portraits over the years – and has an effortless yet still coy expression when he smiles for Scorpius. Scorpius hands the camera off to a Muggle at some point and joins him at Albus’ side. Albus slings an arm around Scorpius’ waist and Scorpius supplements an arm around his shoulders to complete the unit. He can feel Scorpius relax more for these photos, and the Muggle squeaks _“gorgeous, gorgeous!”_ as she snaps away at them.

Scorpius smiles and repeats “_Merci!_” over and over as he takes the camera from her and hands it back to Albus, who sneaks one more candid photograph of Scorpius looking fondly, with gently parted lips and glimmering grey eyes, at the Tower.

⚡

They clink their mugs together under the low light of a bulb that hovers magically above their bed. Albus has tea in his mug, Scorpius has orange juice.

“To our first night in _Paris_.” Scorpius says, inflecting the city name with his perfect French accent.

“And the first day of the greatest adventure of our lives.” Albus adds.

Scorpius joins their mugs again, top lip glistening after taking a sip. He pulls his sleeves over his hands to keep warm, knees pulled up to his chest and eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks under the low-light.

“Why are you staring at me again?” Scorpius asks.

“Huh?” Albus stumbles over his words. “I’m not.”

Scorpius doesn’t look convinced. “I think all that sugar you’ve had today is getting to your head.”

Albus watches Scorpius ruffle up his fringe, still a little damp from the shower he’d had earlier, and sighs to himself ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Something like that.”

⚡

**21st July**

Albus can’t stand it, he truly, truly can’t. He’s trying so hard to distract himself from Scorpius tying his laces at the foot of the bed, but it’s impossible.

He’s wearing dungarees. _Dungarees._ Black denim with the ends rolled up to expose his ankles, including his half of their matching peacock feather tattoos they gave themselves when tipsy (_not_ drunk, despite what the portraits in the Slytherin common room say) during their sixth year. And perhaps Albus could endure the dungarees if not for the red turtleneck jumper Scorpius has on underneath.

Albus didn’t think Scorpius owned these sorts of clothes. From what he’d seen of his friend’s wardrobe back at the Manor the racks were full of silk shirts and exquisite cashmere jumpers dotted among pairs of tight jeans and tailored trousers. Not adorable dungarees and oversized turtlenecks.

Albus clears his throat to distract himself, busying his fingers by counting out some spending money for the day. The plan to visit _Place Cachée_ and explore the wizarding community of Paris was Scorpius’ idea. He’d been reading a travel book and had heard about a shop called _Dr. Aziz Branchiflore’s_, a French apothecary place, and hadn’t shut up about wanting to go in and see if he could find anything to bring back with him.

The look of excitement on Scorpius’ face had been enough to convince Albus to add a trip to this place into their itinerary, but once Scorpius mentioned that there was also a sweet shop there, he was ready to drop everything to go immediately.

“Are you done with your breakfast?” Scorpius asks. Madam Beaulieu had brought them breakfast in bed this morning. Or, rather, she had charmed a tray of toast, eggs, cereal and milk to fly up the staircase and set itself down on the bay window. They’d curled up together around the tray and watched the sun rise over sips of tea and gentle spoonfuls of food.

“Yeah,” Albus says, mid-way through stuffing an arm into his jacket. “I think I put my plate back on the tray?”

“You did,” Scorpius smiles. He gently flicks his wand to the tray and the two of them watch as it rises and shuttles back out the door to, they assume, the kitchen. “I love this place.”

Albus chuckles. “You ready to go?” He asks.

Scorpius brushes his hands over his dungarees – _dungarees_, Albus thinks – and shoulders his rucksack. “I’m ready,” he says. “You okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine!” (He is not).

Scorpius gently squeezes Albus’ shoulder and leads him out to the staircase, and Albus almost pats himself on his back when he gets to the bottom without falling over.

⚡

“It’s definitely in here somewhere.”

“This is ridiculous, Scorp.”

“I _know_ it’s in here,” Scorpius mutters, balancing a book entitled _Wonderful Ways the Wizarding World Works – Hidden in Plain Sight_ on his arm as he eagerly flicks through the impossibly thin pages. “I read this book cover to cover a few years ago. I know it tells you how to get in.”

“Can we at least go and sit down somewhere while you read? We look so stupid.”

“We always look stupid.”

“_Scorpius!_”

⚡

They make it into Place Cachée eventually; Albus is busy looking around as Scorpius rifles through his book when he spots a statue moving in the distance. He thinks at first that it’s one of those street performers he’s seen in Muggle London sometimes, people who pretend to be human statues, taking a break from their work. But then he watches the woman in the statue move her dress to the side to create an opening, and Albus knows he’s found the entrance.

The second they enter the Montmarte district Albus immediately settles ever so slightly knowing they are in the presence of witches and wizards again. Of course at their apartment they can do magic, but everywhere else they’ve been so far the two of them have had to contain themselves and try and act as Muggle and normal as possible.

“This is just like Diagon Alley, isn’t it?” Scorpius says. He pulls Albus along the streets, passing underneath different shop fronts and smiling at locals who nod to them when they walk by.

The buildings are all tall and cream and exquisitely built with the finest bricks and glossiest glass Albus thinks he’s ever seen. Flowerboxes hang from the windows of almost every shop and tiny watering cans have been charmed to hover over the plants to make sure they have enough to drink. Scorpius goes to brush his fingers over some lavender until one of the watering cans swings against his hand and knocks him away. It spurts some water out of its speckled spout and waits until the two of them scuttle away before resuming its duties.

Doors to the shops are swung open to invite patrons in, snippets of conversations floating out the open arches and swirling up into the air. The scents of cinnamon and sugar and chocolate mix and filter out the window from a little bakery, both Albus and some children enthusiastically peeking at the display before being pulled away by Scorpius and their parents respectively.

“It’s a lot wider than Diagon Alley,” Albus says. He’s taken to pinching the straps of Scorpius’ dungarees and flicking them against his shoulder because, honestly, he’s obsessed with this stupid article of clothing his best friend now owns. “Where d’you want to go first?”

Scorpius drags Albus to the apothecary, of course. The shop is dark and tight, barrels of things on the floors and trunks full of… other things littering the walkway and making for a cosy atmosphere. On one side there are shelves full of vials and powders and different cauldrons that bubble eerily in the darkness. Scoops dangle in the air, ready for patrons to bag up a collection of ingredients for them to take away. Albus’ eyes water ever so slightly from the intense smell of eel eyes and crushed snail shells, and he has to be careful to not stumble over baskets and ominous patches of dampness on the wooden floor panels as Scorpius leads them deeper into the shop.

Scorpius doesn’t seem to care, though. He’s running his fingertip over the dust-covered shelves and picking up vials of various coloured liquids, some that even look empty but he insists contain valuable gases. He’s entirely in his element, traipsing further into the shop and craning his neck around the bottles and boxes to get a closer look at ingredients which, apparently, _“Hogwarts could never dream of owning!”_

“Got any Superior Red, though?” Albus jokes.

To which Scorpius responds with a playful jab in the stomach. “Shut up,” he chuckles. “This place is way better than the family apothecary.”

“I still can’t quite believe your family have their own private apothecary…”

“I try to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Scorpius murmurs, clearly fascinated by something else tucked among the shelves.

Albus gently drums his fingers over Scorpius’ bag as he follows like a shadow, ducking under beams that hang lowly and stepping over holes in the floor with the help of Scorpius. “Why? Surely you of all people would be thrilled that your family have a super-secret store of ingredients.”

“My grandparents used it as a store for the ingredients that made potions Voldemort used to cause a lot of people pain during the War,” Scorpius whispers. “It’s all fun on the outside but it’s full of awful things. Dad keeps talking about trying to shut it down but there’s some legal issue around it.”

“Oh,” Albus murmurs. “I… didn’t think about that.”

Scorpius shrugs. “Hey, look,” he picks up a bottle full of green beans, changing the subject entirely. “It’s Sopophorous beans.”

Albus stares blankly at Scorpius.

“You know… used in the Draught of Living Death. We had them at school?” Scorpius explains, delicately placing the bottle back on the shelf.

“Scorpius,” Albus says. “You know I never actually paid attention in Potions, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” Scorpius smiles. “I dragged you through that class by the skin of your teeth.”

They head out the apothecary a short while later, Scorpius’ bag now having a few pouches of Sea Serpent teeth and a vial of Lobalug venom resting at the bottom. They stop off at the _Griffon Buveur_, splitting a glass of red currant rum as they sit at the window table and watch the world pass by. The alcohol stings Albus’ tongue but fills him with a little more life and vibrancy. As they wander back out onto 34 Rue Girardon Albus lets his hand bump against Scorpius’, playing it off as an accident even though he most definitely intends it.

He thinks he should shy away from alcohol after he lets his fingers linger on the back of Scorpius’ hand and his friend notices. But something in his subconscious tells him that that would be an awful idea and that maybe, _maybe_, the alcohol bringing him out his shell is a good thing. Only time can tell, really.

⚡

“Isn’t it eerily beautiful?” Albus asks as the two of them stand before the Flamel House. This had been his idea; he’d been talking to his father once about the Philosophers Stone and had been fascinated by the story of Nicolas Flamel. The moment he and Scorpius had thought about going to Paris, Albus knew he’d force them to come to this place at some point.

The two pillars that outline the doorway are covered in dirt and dust, but nobody dares lay a finger on the stone as to not disturb the building. The stairs leading to the entrance are curved inwards in the centre from years and years of people walking up and down them. The little mosaic windows are shattered in certain places, and curtains from inside hang lifelessly, half-closed and hiding the interior from the rest of the world. What Albus wouldn’t do to get a peek inside, to walk where the Flamel family would have walked.

“Just thinking about how much history was made in that house gives you the shivers, doesn’t it?” Scorpius adds. He tilts his head side to side, trying to decipher some runes and random words that have been etched into the windowpanes.

Albus swallows thickly. “Reminds me a bit of my grandparent’s house,” he says, dragging his eyes over the cracks in the structure and the bird’s nests that have been formed on the roof. “It just, like, speaks to you. Dad took me to their cottage after the whole… fourth year fiasco happened.”

“So you finally saw his statue?”

Albus shakes his head with a smile. “Shush, let me be serious.”

“Sorry.” Scorpius smiles. He hesitantly perches on one of the steps at the foot of the house, resting his chin on his knees as he looks at Albus.

“I didn’t realise nobody had touched it since they died. I thought that Muggles or somebody in the Order would try and, like, fix it up. But no. It’s still there, roof blown off and ash and burn marks everywhere. Someone tends to the garden, though,” Albus says. “And just like this place… you can just feel the presence of everyone there. Like, I can imagine Flamel and his wife here when the Stone was destroyed, realising that things were coming to an end. And when I was at the cottage I could… I could feel my grandparents’ realisation that this was it. The buildings… they speak to you.”

Scorpius smiles sadly at Albus and gently tugs him down onto the step beside him. He places his hand on Albus’ knee and gently draws constellations into the material of his jeans, letting Albus rest his head on Scorpius’ shoulder.

“I always think that people attach themselves to their favourite part of their houses, and that when they die their spirit is still there, sort of,” Scorpius says. “Not like they’re a ghost. But just that their aura remains. Like at my house, I can _feel_ my mum in the library. It’s why I stay in there all the time, because I can feel her warmth. I know she isn’t there, not really, but there is just something that gives the room life. I imagine it’s the same at the cottage. Like there’s just a bubble of energy that floats about the place, the remaining auras of Lily and James. And here…”

“There’s a bubble of the Flamels,” Albus finishes. He feels Scorpius nod beside him, and a gentle gust of wind trickles around his neck and down his shirt. “I just think it’s so cool that magic is everywhere. I mean, I know it’s everywhere, I’ve read history books. But seeing it, _feeling_ it. It’s so different from reading it for an essay.”

“I agree,” Scorpius says. “Which is why the place I’m taking us to next is really going to raise the hairs on the back of your neck.”

Scorpius holds out his hand to Albus, wiggling his fingers to encourage him to get up faster. Scorpius’ hand is cold as Albus takes it, and they remain in that awkward hand-hold, hand-shake situation until Albus releases and scratches his cheek.

“You have a funny look in your eye,” Albus says. “And I can’t work out at all what emotion it is.”

Scorpius smiles. “You’ll see soon enough.”

⚡

_Cimetière du Père-Lachaise._

Scorpius brings them to a cemetery. Albus grabs onto the straps of his rucksack to give his fingers somewhere to uncomfortably fiddle as he tries to work out in his mind why, as part of their life-changing trip to Europe, Scorpius would take a detour to a cemetery. A wizarding community makes sense, popular tourist locations make sense, a famous wizard’s house _also_ makes sense. But a cemetery?

And then he sees it.

Albus follows Scorpius as they walk around graves and pass statues of angels and crosses and various other religious imagery. He is careful as he walks, making sure to only ever set foot on the pathways or the grass and to not step on any plot of land. Scorpius has a hold of the bottom of Albus’ jacket, as always, gently tugging him through the cemetery towards a mausoleum in the centre. Long strands of grass and wildflowers tickle Albus’ ankles and gentle thorns tug on the material of his jeans, and he scurries quickly behind Scorpius until they stop at the entrance to the tomb.

_Lestrange_.

The name on the mausoleum takes Albus’ breath away. Scorpius rests his hands on his hips as he stares at the building, the off-white colour of the stone tainted with spots of dirt and erosion from years and years of standing in the cemetery. Carved above the door, below the engraved family name, reads _Corvus oculum corvi non eruit. _

“A raven will not pick out the eye of another raven.” Scorpius translates.

Albus glances to his side. Scorpius is idly chewing on the skin around his thumb, foot gently tapping on the grass.

“You’ve brought us to the Lestrange graves,” Albus declares. “Why?”

Scorpius shrugs. “My dad mentioned that this was here. Since, you know, the Lestranges were very much involved with my family,” he explains. He gently brushes his knuckles over one of the pillars, blowing away the dirt and dust that has tainted his skin when he retrieves it. “You mentioning going to see Lily and James’ house… got me thinking that maybe coming here could be something monumental in my life.”

“Well...” Albus begins. “Is it?”

Scorpius smiles and lets out a deflated breath. “Not really.”

Albus digs through his bag to pull out a bottle of water, taking a swig before handing it to Scorpius. The scrunching of the bottle as Scorpius drains the last few drops of water perfectly harmonises with the whistling of the wind around the sharp edges of the mausoleum in front of them.

“I think being confronted with the truth of your family history is a very weird thing,” Albus says, trying to break the silence in a comfortable way. “Because you’re reminded that all these people lived, and did things, and because of what they did you exist today. And it’s a really complicated feeling of loss, when you realise they don’t know anything about you, but you know everything about them.”

“And it’s even more complicated when you have to learn that your ancestors were positively evil human beings,” Scorpius says, voice monotonous and plain. “Because carrying around that legacy with you on a daily basis… it isn’t an easy thing to do.”

Albus doesn’t know what to say. So he says nothing at all.

“Do you remember when you first asked your mum and dad about what happened during the Wars, and you were told the history of your family?” Scorpius asks.

“Um,” Albus stutters. “Yeah. It was… it was on Halloween, I think. When I was really little. I asked why dad was always so sad when James, Lily and I went trick-or-treating. And he told me I wasn’t old enough to know about everything, but that Halloween was a really sad thing for him and that he has a lot of bad memories.”

“And when you finally found out everything, you were told that your grandparents died at the hand of an awful dark wizard, and that they fought on the right side but unfortunately weren’t able to make it through. And when you read the history books you see your ancestors held up in a positive light, they are saviours of the wizarding world: they _saved _us. Am I right?” Scorpius continues.

Albus can feel where the conversation is going; his stomach twists as he looks between his friend and the tombs before him. “You’re right,” he says. “I read a book about the Order of the Phoenix and realised that my grandparents died too young, but died bravely.”

Scorpius nods. “I… I was so excited to learn about _everything_. Growing up in the Manor… it’s so big, there are so many portraits. So many rooms and artefacts. And to me, young me when I was naïve and clueless, everything was so exciting. I begged my dad to tell me what my grandparents did to own such a wonderful house, and what they did during the war. Because I knew things hadn’t been easy for them, but I didn’t know the details,” he starts. “And he would never tell me. Said it wasn’t important, and that I should look to the future and not the past.”

“So,” Albus interrupts. “How did you find out?”

“I found a book in my mother’s library about Dark wizards and witches. It was hidden at the back of a shelf, I only found it because she asked me to reorganise her history section,” Scorpius answers. And he sniffs. “And in the index at the back of the book I saw the word _Malfoy_. So I sat down, flicked to the pages, and read about how my grandparents were Death Eaters, how my _dad_ was a Death Eater. How my family were lifelong followers of Dark Magic, evil people. Horrible, horrible people.

“I read about how my dad was told to kill Dumbledore. How my grandfather was the catalyst that opened the Chamber of Secrets. How my family fought on the wrong side. My family walked alongside the most evil wizard ever known to our people. They listened and cheered and celebrated when people were killed. They wanted to flush out an entire set of wizards and witches based on their blood. _My_ family. And that…” Scorpius chokes on his words. “That is a really difficult thing to learn when you’re young, and lonely, and desperate.”

Albus takes the pause in Scorpius’ speech as an opportunity to close the space between them and wrap his friend up into a tight hug. Scorpius drops the bottle to the ground and allows himself to melt into Albus’ side, teary eyes wetting Albus’ shirt as he hides his face into his shoulder.

“And now,” Scorpius continues, pivoting ever so slightly in Albus’ arms to look back at the mausoleum. “I look at this place, at that name which has plagued my life for _years_, and I don’t know what to feel. What to feel about the fact that my _great-aunt_ once tried to kill _your mother_. Because technically they are my family. And I should hate them for what they did. But I _can’t_.”

“You don’t choose your family, Scorp,” Albus says. “I know that’s extremely rich coming from me and considering what my feelings towards my family have got us into over the years. But you don’t choose your history, you can only choose your present and your future.”

Scorpius wipes his eyes with Albus’ sleeve. “I just resent them for what their actions years ago have done for me and my dad. They are dead now, they don’t have to deal with the consequences of their _fucked_ up lives. But me and him… every day we are plagued with the reality of what it is to be the offspring of bad people. We have to shoulder the emotional baggage and the implications of their lives while they rest in this awful, fancy tomb not knowing what they have done and what their legacy is.”

“It sucks,” Albus says. Short and sweet because, honestly, what can he say to make Scorpius feel better in the slightest? “Life sucks. But you aren’t your family name. You aren’t your ancestors. You’re Scorpius: big dork, huge nerd and pending successful Healer.”

“I realised a while ago that the people in these tombs are also Delphi’s family,” Scorpius whispers. “And that, even if it is incredibly distantly, we share the same blood. And I count myself incredibly lucky that my parents broke away from that twisted way of thinking. Because I could have turned out like her.”

“You would never have turned out like her,” Albus says. _Begs_. He’s begging Scorpius to believe him; he lets go of Scorpius and stands in front of him, instead holding onto Scorpius’ cheeks to force them to look at each other. “Ever. You are good. And you are _sweet_. There may be a history of darkness in your family name but _you_ are the sun, the light. The anomaly that breaks free. You are vintage Scorpius Malfoy, and you are nothing like the people who lie in those graves.”

Scorpius nods. He exhales, breath tickling Albus’ nose. He looks to the ground, head shaking his tears off his cheeks and to the grass to water the wildflowers that listen intently to their conversation.

“I’m starving,” Scorpius says. “Fancy heading back for dinner?”

Albus smiles, resting his hand on Scorpius’ back. “I think that sounds like a perfect plan.”

⚡

_Mum,_

_Our first two days in France have been amazing. We’ve done pretty much every cheesy tourist thing possible so far. Lunch at the Tower, visiting the remains of Notre Dame. We headed to the wizarding community today; drank some fancy French rum and even tried a type of alcohol infused with snails! It was… interesting. _

_Tomorrow we’re heading to Lyon to visit the cathedrals and learn more about alchemy and potion-making, since apparently Lyon has a history of that stuff. According to Scorpius, anyway._

_The homesickness hasn’t been too bad, to be honest. I miss you and dad and Lily, obviously, but this feels nice. It feels right to be out here, exploring, living. I just thought you’d like a postcard to know that Scorp and I are still alive and haven’t got lost in the middle of Paris yet._

_Love you always. Write soon,_

_Albus._

⚡

**22nd July**

Monsieur Beaulieu is a bundle of joy. Albus and Scorpius head down for the breakfast the next morning, sitting cross-legged and jumbled up on the stools, chatting to Monsieur while Madam insists on cooking food for everyone. She clicks her fingers and glasses of water, orange juice, apple juice, and even pumpkin juice, comes flying to their table. The kettle is charmed to boil water forever, ensuring that every mug of tea that is poured is as warm as possible.

Scorpius has Albus’ Barcelona Bicorns jumper on this morning; he woke up and changed before Albus did, and insisted that the jumper looked far too comfortable to not try on and that there was nothing Albus could do to make him change. He has it tucked into the front of some cropped, navy jeans with a snake-buckled belt holding them up and the entire outfit is driving Albus a little insane. Scorpius slept with wet hair so the ends are curled and he keeps brushing his fingers through his fringe to try and tame it.

(He thinks he should try and address the whole _finding-my-best-friend-really-pretty _thing, but then there’s a plate of pancakes in front of him and that thought flies right out of his head.)

“So,” Monsieur Beaulieu has a moustache that muffles his words ever so slightly, and his incredibly thick accent makes everything he says sound as if it’s come directly from a children’s book. “You two are heading to Lyon today?”

“Oui,” Albus says. He’s learning French, sort of. “Apparently there is a direct Floo route to a bar called _La Queue de Sirène?_”

“Ah, _oui_,” Madam Beaulieu says from the stove. “The Mermaid Tail. I’ve heard about that place. Right at the heart of Lyon. Lovely place run by lovely people.”

“We’re hoping to get round the cathedrals,” Scorpius says between mouthfuls of toast. “We’re both really interested in potion-making, and apparently there’s a large history of that at the cathedrals? I read a book called–”

“_Anthology of Potion Making in the Gothic 12th to 16th Centuries_.” Albus interrupts.

Scorpius playfully kicks him under the table, flicking a bit of sugar in Albus’ face before continuing. “I read that book and there was the most fascinating chapter on how wizards and witches would sneak into Lyon cathedrals to take Holy Water for their potions,” he says. “And how they thought that adding it to their work would strengthen the transcendental power of the potion, particularly healing ones.”

“_Il est intelligent_!” Monsieur Beaulieu says, moustache dotted with toast crumbs and drips of apple juice.

“_Oui_,” Madam Beaulieu agrees. “_Garçons intelligents_.”

“There was huge demand for Holy Water potions years and years ago. I don’t believe that there was ever any proof that they had a stronger effect on people, but I think that when people were desperate for a resolution to their problems, they sought comfort in the potions.” Monsieur Beaulieu says.

“Like how some people pray?” Albus asks. “Some people would pray, some people would depend on the potions?”

“_Oui_.” Madam Beaulieu smiles.

Scorpius gazes between their hosts, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate to signify that he was done and ready and excited to leave to Lyon immediately. He looks to Albus, pleading for his friend to finish the croissant in his hands.

The breakfast table quickly settles back into a gentle buzz of action as Albus finishes eating, Madam Beaulieu begins to clean and Monsieur Beaulieu charms the crumbs in his moustache away. Scorpius bounces in the corner of the room, both his and Albus’ backpacks resting by his feet. He fiddles with his fringe, twisting certain strands this way and that way to try and control the curls; Albus almost drops an entire glass of juice down his jumper because he’s so focused on Scorpius and misses his mouth and, _Merlin_, he thinks, he needs to get his act together.

⚡

“So,” Albus says. The two of them stand in front of the grand fireplace in the Beaulieu’s sitting room, handful of Floo power tickling their palms. “Tell me again how to pronounce the place properly?”

Scorpius smiles. “_La Queue de Sirène._”

“La Queue de Sirène,” Albus repeats, releasing a shaky breath. “Look. I… I’m not the best with French pronunciation so just in case I say it wrong and get lost should we work out a way to find each other?”

“Al…” Scorpius chuckles. “You’re not going to say it wrong.”

“Please, Scorpius. Just in case.”

Scorpius sighs. “Okay. Um,” he says, digging around in his pocket for a couple of Muggle coins. He pulls out his wand and casts a quiet spell on them, holding one out for Albus to take. “Enchanted coins. Your Aunt used them for Dumbledore’s Army meetings, I believe. The number value in the middle will change if you hold it and think about the words that you want it to say instead. So if either of us gets lost, which we _won’t_, just find out where you are, hold the coin and think of the place name and the name will show up on them both and we will find each other.”

Albus holds the coin in his hands and thinks of a random place, smiling with a nod as the number changes discreetly into _Hogwarts Tower_. “Okay. I like this,” he says. “This is good.”

“Good,” Scorpius smiles. “You first. I will be right behind you, I promise.”

Albus doesn’t feel convinced as he steps into the fireplace, shaking the Floo ever so slightly in his palm as he works himself up. “Right. See you on the other side,” he says. “_La Queue de Sirène._”

He throws the Floo powder down into the burning flames and steps into the growing green ones. He tries to remember everything he’d been taught about travelling by Floo (keeping his eyes closed, tucking his elbows in and not panicking) but, honestly, he is so paranoid that he pronounced the place wrong that his breathing speeds up slightly.

So Albus is incredibly surprised when he shuttles out of a fireplace and onto a carpet in what, thankfully, looks like a pub. The fireplace opens into a clearing in the room, all the stools and tables pointed directly as if the patrons would watch people come and go during the day. The few customers and workers at the bar wave in Albus’ direction, tossing gentle _bonjour!_ greetings to him. He coyly waves back, rubbing his hands over his cheeks to brush off the ash and cinders that settled on his clothing during the trip.

Then there is a gentle tumbling behind him and a sudden weight thumping into his back. Albus tumbles to the side from the impact and rolls away from the fireplace, groaning from the pain in his lower back where he thinks someone elbowed him.

“Ouch,” Scorpius says, squinting through an ashy plume that wafts around him. He coughs a couple of times, fingertips sifting through his perfect hair to try and brush out the dark spots. “Sorry, Al. I think I jumped into the fireplace a little too enthusiastically.”

“It’s good,” Albus lies. He stretches out his back muscles to relieve some of the tension, brushing his thumb over Scorpius’ cheek to clear off a smudge of ash on his skin. “Hey, we made it to Lyon!”

After happily taking a glass of water from the barmaid at _La Queue de Sirène_ the two of them head out of the bar and navigate their way to the first cathedral Scorpius wants to see. As they walk he rambles endlessly about the _Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon_ or, as he helpfully translates for Albus, the Lyon Cathedral. Scorpius speaks with his hands and makes grand gestures to talk about how large the cathedral is and how it has certain architectural elements that he thinks are highly influential to many buildings in the wizarding world.

“Of course,” Scorpius says. “Hogwarts was built way before so you could probably say that the school influenced buildings instead of the other way around. But still, I think it’s interesting to see the similarities between the buildings and notice the ways that we and Muggles work together even when we don’t realise.”

“You’re such a geek,” Albus says, fondly and softly. “I mean, I already knew this. Obviously. And I’m not sure how you still manage to surprise me with your geekiness but, alas, you do.”

Scorpius shrugs and gently prods Albus’ cheeks, slinging his arm around his shoulders as they keep walking. The second they turn onto Rue de la Brèche and head down the cobbled path towards the cathedral Albus can tell why Scorpius wanted to bring them here so badly.

The cathedral stands infinitely taller than the rest of the buildings around them, cream coloured bricks and gold accents shining like royalty in contrast to the neutral houses surrounding it. Albus thinks it looks rather a lot like a palace, towering over the two of them and juxtaposing against the cloud-filled sky behind it. He notices how geometric the cathedral is: triangle embellishments stand out amongst the basic rectangular shape, little arches and squares and spikes all pointing upwards. To God, wherever he is. There is a circular stained-glass window in the centre of the building, set above the middle of three triangular doorways that all lead to within. Inside the circle is a pattern that looks a little like a flower, like a doodle that Lily would have scribbled over his hand if he dozed off in the living room during summer.

Albus feels immediately tiny and miniscule. The closer they step to the cathedral the darker the shadows on the floor become, the cooler the air around them turns. Albus winds up the disposable camera to take a couple of photos, though, he knows, these tiny little pictures won’t do the whole thing justice. Then Scorpius steps in front of the lens and Albus back-tracks a few paces so he can fit in some of the cathedral as a backdrop.

“You look like a gnome compared to it,” Albus jokes, pocketing the camera when they step up to the cathedral. “What’s it like to be the small one for once?”

“Shove off.” Scorpius jokes, playfully pushing Albus over the threshold.

The inside of the cathedral is narrow, two sets of pews facing the end of the room with a small walkway between them. Arches surround them, formed by huge pillars that reach impossibly high and meet at the ceiling to outline exquisite and intricate paintings. Cylindrical lights hang periodically above them, the glasswork of the shades allowing patterns to paint the floor instead of a basic blanket of gold. Albus doesn’t have words for how beautiful it is. He can’t even begin to form sentences that would sum up the workmanship and effort and _talent_ it had taken someone to create such a place.

He wonders how people reached the ceiling to paint, how they managed to make everything symmetrical and how they carved the ridges into the pillars and created the delicate designs of the archways. It all seems so impossible to him. He can imagine a wizard doing it; they would simply charm the paintbrushes and the tools to do the work for them, standing beneath and watching as the artwork made itself.

“Hey,” Scorpius whispers. His voice is quiet yet his word still echoes and bounces around the cathedral, and a couple of tourists glance back at the two of them. “It’s pretty amazing, huh?”

Albus nods as they walk towards the chancel, footsteps quietly clicking behind them and shoes occasionally scuffing over the cobbled floors. “The candles…” he says. “So many candles.”

“Votive candles,” Scorpius murmurs, twisting his hand in front of his face as he indicates to the matches and the untouched candles. “The meaning of them changes depending on what denomination the cathedral is.”

“Well,” Albus says, picking up an unlit candle. “This one is Roman Catholic, right?”

Scorpius nods. “Yeah. I think I read once that votive candles in Roman Catholic churches are to either give honour to the saint of the church or to fulfil a vow. I doubt many people know that, though, so I assume a lot of these candles have been lit to act as prayers for people.”

Albus listens intently, proceeding to light three candles after Scorpius is finished speaking. Scorpius tilts his head to the side, curiously looking between Albus and the candles he just lit. “I’m not religious, but… I think my grandparents and Uncle Fred would appreciate the prayers.”

Scorpius smiles sadly. He takes the match from Albus and lights up one of his own. “Since my mum taught me a lot of what I know now,” he says. “I think she’d appreciate one, too.”

⚡

“This is it.” Scorpius says.

Albus looks at the church in front of them, a bit smaller than the Lyon Cathedral, but that still has effortlessly beautiful spires pointing to the heavens above and sweet details in the shapes of triangles and circles and archways to make the exterior as impressive as possible.

“This is… what?” Albus asks. “The fourth church we’ve looked at today?”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Don’t be pedantic,” he murmurs. “_Saint-Nizier Church_. One of the churches that witches and wizards used to frequent a lot and, I believe, still do sometimes.”

“Weren’t wizards, like, executed sometimes if they were suspected of doing witchcraft or wizardry? I’m pretty sure the Fat Friar told me many times that’s why he was killed.” Albus says, gently holding onto Scorpius’ sleeve as they walk into the church. This one is mainly empty, save for a couple of tourists at the chancel, and they head to the pew on the front row to sit and admire the interior.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Scorpius says. “It’s quite painfully ironic, really, that some wizards and witches follow religions like Christianity since the faith prosecuted people for maybe being magic. But it’s interesting at the same time.”

“D’you reckon there are strictly wizardkind churches? There has to be, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Scorpius says. “I think this is the closest we’ll come to finding one, though. The only reason I know this one a wizarding hotspot is because it’s where the first Holy Water potion was created.”

“Really?”

Scorpius nods as he takes a sip from a bottle of water. “From what the history books say,” he starts. “There was a massive duel that happened down by the river one night. I think some wizard found out that his friend was having an affair with his wife, or something.”

Albus chokes on his water. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I know, duelling over infidelity. Mental, but true. But the duel got pretty intense, and the husband cut up his friend really badly. According to eye witnesses he attempted Crucio which… sort of suggests that maybe he wasn’t the nicest wizard to exist, even if the curse failed. But his friend was in a bad state and they had to try and flee the streets as quickly as possible because Muggles were arriving. So they took him to this church. Laid him out at the altar and started trying to spell him better,” Scorpius explains, doing his typical thing of gesturing with his hands to illustrate the route the wizards all those years ago would have taken. “And they sort of got there with spells alone. But he was badly cut up and they couldn’t stop all the bleeding. Then someone said they could try and brew a potion.”

“Don’t potions take hours to brew?”

“Exactly,” Scorpius says. He stands up and gestures to two large candles that stand on either side of the altar. “And the guy was bleeding out really quickly. So they snuck into the back and found a trunk of ingredients, since it was a wizarding church, and managed to get almost enough to make a Wound-Cleaning potion. But they didn’t have any Re’em blood, which is what gives the drinker a burst of strength and typically helps them heal faster and improves the skins ability to close. Then someone suggested Holy Water. They thought because it had been blessed then perhaps it would have the same effect.”

Albus listens in wonder. It should feel like he’s sat in a potions lessons, he thinks, but Scorpius is such a magnetic speaker that he doesn’t even realise he’s being lectured. “And did it?” He questions. “Have the same effect?”

Scorpius shrugs. “The guy made it through alive. But nobody can conclusively say whether the Holy Water had anything to do with it or not. Some people think that Holy Water speeds the brewing time up, since they managed to make the potion much faster than normal. Others think it’s a special catalyst that can substitute specific ingredients in a time of need. But, to be honest, there’s no real way to find out.”

“That’s… so cool.” Albus says. He gets up to follow Scorpius to the candles and gently sweeps his finger through the cooling wax that has dripped down towards the bottom.

“Magic is cool,” Scorpius agrees. He lights another candle, Albus assumes again for his mother, and Albus helps him put out the match when Scorpius’ hand begins to shake. “Potion brewing is cool. The fact that you can heal everything with leaves and water and things like that. It’s just… well. I mean. Not everything, obviously. But… a lot of things.”

“Come on,” Albus says, gently turning Scorpius away from the candles and down the steps back to the door. “Let’s split a drink and some food before we head back to Paris.

⚡

Albus frowns as the drink that is placed between Scorpius and himself. They made their way slowly yet sweetly back to the Mermaid’s Tail and had asked the barmaid to surprise them when they couldn’t translate any of the drinks on the menu.

“_Bière à l'eau de rose infusé à l'encre de seiche._” The barmaid said, setting the glass down in front of them. The content of the glass is mainly clear save for a perfect streak of black down the middle. The blackness doesn’t spread, even when Albus stirs it vigorously with a paper straw.

“What does it mean?” Albus asks. Scorpius has a similarly displeased expression on his face as he looks at the drink, and Albus knows he understood what the lady said. “Scorp, what does it mean?”

Scorpius sighs. “It’s rose-water beer infused with squid ink.”

“Uh,” Albus says. “It’s what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Maybe… maybe it’ll be really nice?” Albus suggests, placing two straws in it. “It can’t be worse than most things we’ve had.”

“Are you forgetting that I despise fish, Albus? I’m one hundred percent going to vomit this back up,” Scorpius says, pushing the glass ever so slightly away from him. “Just look at it! The ink… it’s disgusting.”

“You said you would vomit back up Polyjuice potion but you never did,” Albus says, pushing the glass back towards him. “Come on, live a little! This is the only time you’re ever going to drink it.”

Scorpius groans. “Fine.”

They clink their straws together in the glass and take a sip each. And, surprisingly, Albus sort of loves it. The beer is bitter but the rose-water is sweet and the squid ink… well, it gives the drink a little twinge of sharpness.

“You know what, this isn’t actually that ba–”

Albus turns to look at Scorpius and freezes. He looks green, completely green in the cheeks and red at the forehead and, basically, his skin is just a mosaic of colours that he shouldn’t be all at once.

“Oh, Merlin. Are you okay?” Albus asks. “You do look like you’re going to throw up.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I told you,” he says. “I _told_ you fish isn’t my thing.”

⚡

Their journey back through the fireplace is delayed ever so slightly as Scorpius spends almost fifteen minutes kneeling on the floor in the bathroom. Albus tries to be comforting, he really does; he rubs Scorpius’ back and gently scratches his hair and tells him he’ll be fine. But Albus and vomit… they don’t really get on.

A bit like Scorpius and fish then, he thinks.

⚡

**23rd July**

_Mum & Dad_

_Lyon was a lot of fun. My feet are kind of aching and Scorpius has spent hours trying to master this charm that relieves back and leg pain, but the first time he tried it on me it gave me pins and needles for hours so, needless to say, that’s not worked out quite yet. _

_We went into a wizarding knick-knack shop and I found these little ornaments of famous French landmarks that, when you tap them with your wand, play the national anthem and grow three times bigger. Scorpius’ reckons they’re little tourist gifts that someone charmed back in the day, so I’m sure grandpa would love to get a hold of them._

_When I get back I’ll have to show him!_

_We’re off to Montpellier tomorrow. Apparently they have a large population of wild beasts that have been sort of domesticated but don’t live with wizards. They just… wander the streets. Scorpius also mentioned something about there being a Healing School there. He’s hoping to pick up some books (obviously) and to find out something about training programmes. Montpellier also has some great beaches so I’m personally looking forward to just sitting around and doing nothing. Maybe have an ice cream or two. _

_Today was just spent in Paris. We went to some Muggle galleries and museums. Scorpius nearly knocked a super famous painting off the wall which got us kicked out of one gallery, so I guess we’re not going to be welcome back there anytime soon._

_Anyway, miss you still. Send grandma and grandpa my love. I’ve sent some Parisian sweet treats and pastries by owl post, so hopefully they should get there soon. I can’t believe we’re nearly done with our first country, but it means I get to see James soon._

_Love you. Always._

_Albus._

⚡

**24th July**

The wizarding district of Montpellier is, well. It’s magical, to put it in simple terms. Small broomsticks are tied to pegs on the sandy beaches, offering rides to small children who can’t properly fly by themselves. Parents hold up their kids on the brooms and a worker pulls them along the beach, hovering just a couple of feet off the ground, melodic giggles tumbling from their lips and mixing with the gentle crash of waves as the tide cascades inwards.

Ice cream scoops have been charmed to fulfil orders, loading up different flavours onto small cones and into little tubs, bottles of sauces squeezing on top to add an extra layer of sugary sweetness. Beach towels occasionally levitate and shake off sand when families come and go, offering a clean slate to the endless waves of tourists. It’s especially hot today, temperatures creeping up to high twenties and low thirties, and Albus can feel the sweat damping his forehead. He’s in the thinnest t-shirt he owns, jeans rolled up a few extra inches and bag swung over one shoulder only so it isn’t pressing against his back and making his shirt damp.

Scorpius has a patterned, short-sleeved button up on. Albus can’t really tell exactly what the pattern is, but there are swirling tones of blue and white and yellow and it mesmerises him when he looks too hard. But it’s also possible that he’s mesmerised by the fact Scorpius has it unbuttoned to just above his navel, and his skin shimmers a little from the layer of sun block he rubbed there when they arrived.

They prepared well for Montpellier, unlike every other place they’d visited so far. Scorpius had spent the evening in their apartment flicking through history books to find out what the entrance to the wizarding community was, Albus hovering a lightbulb over his head so he could read in the darkness.

“When arriving at Montpellier, wizards and witches should head towards _Place Royale du Peyrou_. Towards the back right there is a grassy patch and in the middle a small fountain. They should then flick a coin into the fountain and wait for the water to stop and fountain to open in half before stepping in,” Scorpius had read aloud. “Magical fountain, it seems.”

“Magical fountain?” Albus asked. “Makes more sense than statues and secret walls.”

So here they are. The beaches are in southern Montpellier and carriages pulled by Thestrals take tourists from the city centre to the seaside if that’s where they want to spend their day. Albus and Scorpius watch sadly as little kids and their parents stare at the carriages seemingly pulled by nothing at all. Albus swallows thickly, remembering the days when he believed the carriages were charmed to be pulled by nothing, too. Now he can’t stand to look at Thestrals because of what they remind him of.

Scorpius, on the other hand, loves them. Well, love may not be the right word. Admires is probably better, Albus thinks. He smiles and waves at them but doesn’t touch them as to not upset them. He finds them enchanting, so Albus watches Scorpius instead whenever they are near Thestrals.

“You won’t believe what the witch at the ice cream cart just told me,” Scorpius says as he sits down next to Albus on the beach. Their shorts immediately cover in sand and a few granules make it into the ice cream, but it just gives his food a little more texture in Albus’ opinion. “Apparently a Hippocampus group were seen in the sea earlier this week.”

“Hippocampus? You mean those weird horse-fish things?” Albus asks. “They terrified me in Magical Creatures.”

“They’re harmless!”

“Scorpius,” Albus says. “They’re rated XXX by the Ministry.”

“XXX is nothing,” Scorpius chuckles. “I thought as someone who loved magical creatures you wouldn’t be afraid of a plain little XXX beast.”

“Whatever,” Albus says, jokingly rolling his eyes. “I think Montpellier is my favourite place we’ve been so far. I mean, Paris is great and all and Lyon was fun but… this place. The fact that Mooncalves just walk down the streets and Fairies pick up litter people leave behind them. It’s like some wonderful magical utopia where every living thing works together.”

“Of course you, Albus Severus Potter, would love the place where fluffy animals walk freely and magical scoops keep refilling your Butterbeer ice cream.” Scorpius smiles.

“Shush,” Albus chuckles. “So when are we going to head to the Healing Academy?”

Scorpius shrugs. “There’s no rush,” he says. “We’ve barely been here two hours, and I’d quite like to work on my tan.”

“Your tan?” Albus snickers, flicking a little bit of ice cream at Scorpius’ cheek. He can sense that something is bothering Scorpius, something he isn’t telling Albus for whatever reason. “What’s up?”

“Huh?” Scorpius asks, breaking his gaze from the curling waves to look at his friend. “Nothing.”

“I can tell when you’re lying to me, you know.”

Scorpius shrugs. “I’m not lying.”

“Is it because I mentioned the Academy? I thought you wanted to go?” Albus asks. He shuffles his beach towel a little closer to Scorpius’, crossing his legs and turning to his side so he can see him better.

Scorpius lets out a deflated sigh and looks at Albus. “I do want to go. It’s one of the reasons I brought us here. I’m just… nervous.”

“Why?”

Scorpius shrugs. “This particular place… it’s not really a training school, as such. It’s more for researchers, I guess? I found their name on the back of a letter my dad received a couple of years ago. Apparently they do a lot of work in trying to cure curses. They work on counter-charms and brewing potions that can maybe eliminate the effects of specific curses.”

“Including…” Albus trails off.

“Yeah,” Scorpius says. “Including blood maledictions.”

Albus pauses as a seaside breeze ruffles the neckline of his t-shirt, breathing in the salty air as he continues to carefully eat his ice cream. “So does that mean your dad got in contact with them?”

“I don’t think so,” Scorpius starts. He gently rests his head on Albus’ shoulder, letting his eyes flutter closed and tub of ice cream rest on his lap. “As much as dad loves mum and talks more about her now, I don’t think he would try and reach out to anyone about what killed her. I think they reached out to him. She’s one of the most recent cases of people who died like this, I reckon they wanted to ask him some questions.”

“So… that makes sense, and all, but why is that making you nervous? They’re not going to know who you are. They can’t harass you because your dad didn’t respond.” Albus soothes.

“It makes me nervous because what if when I get in there I find out that they’re getting closer to finding a cure for _it_?” Scorpius asks.

Albus stares confusedly at Scorpius. “Isn’t that a good thing? I thought the reason you wanted to go into Healing is to try and find a way to make sure nobody ever has to go through what you and your dad did?”

“It is!” Scorpius says, sounding completely exasperated. “It is. It’s just… I want to go into this field so I can make a difference and make sure nobody has to suffer the way my mum did. But all this time I keep wondering what will I actually do if they, or _I_, find a cure? Because, sure, it’s wonderful that there will be a solution, but what’s the point when it’s years too late to save my mother?”

“The point, Scorpius,” Albus says. “Is that you will be making a difference in her memory. I can only try to imagine how tough it is knowing that it’s too late to do anything for you and your dad. But you’re doing this _because_ of her. Because it will hopefully mean that you can make sure nobody else has to go through this loss. And it sucks so bad that to get to this point in your life you had to lose your mum, but you can’t let a little fear of the unknown stop you from making a difference.”

Scorpius swallows thickly. “Merlin,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry. I feel like every place we’ve come so far I’ve had a meltdown because of my mum.”

“You don’t need to apologise for your grieving, Scorp.” Albus says.

And then they hug. It’s slightly uncomfortable as their sweaty arms overlap and the sun block on Scorpius’ chest greases over Albus’ shirt. But it’s enough to calm them both back down again.

“This is why we’re out here,” Albus continues. “So we can both come to terms with everything that’s happened in our lives. Of course part of the fun is seeing these places and learning and adventuring. But we’re also out here to grow.”

“You sound so much like Ginny right now,” Scorpius smiles. He picks up his ice cream once Albus lets go and feeds him a bite. “Right. No more crying for now. At least, not while we’re in France. I can’t promise anything for when we leave this country, though.”

⚡

_L’academie de Guérison_, in Albus’ opinion, is a very peculiar place. _I mean_, he thinks, _what sort of hospital offers tours to random people off the streets?_ Scorpius is enthused, though. His mood seems to have brightened significantly since their talk on the beach. The walk to the Academy had been quiet and melancholy; Scorpius’ heavy footsteps had scratched on the sandy slabs and his eyes barely looked up from the floor. Albus didn’t know what else to do except just squeeze Scorpius’ shoulder every once in a while. He wished he could do more, but he just had to settle with letting Scorpius’ countenance come back to normal itself.

Their tour guide, a bright-eyed witch with tight curly-haired called Clementine Coquelin, greets them all with an enthusiastic bow and faux salute. Her gown is made of a dark-orange material – giving Albus flashbacks to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione’s marriage renewal reception – and she has a badge pinned on the left lapel in the shape of a triangle with a skull, wand and cauldron making up the three points.

“_Bonjour_!” Clementine smiles. She makes sure to shake everyone’s hands in the circle, and Albus notices that she spends a little longer greeting Scorpius than everyone else. “Welcome to _L’academie de Guérison_. We are very happy to have you here today for the tour. Just some ground rules before we begin: the tour consists of a walk around the hospital sector of the building, where we have a few special case patients, but no admittance to the rooms are allowed. Then we will circle to the research department where our finest Healers and Mediwizards are currently working on new potions and charms. We will be able to see them doing work through some windows, but we ask that you take no photos at any point during the tour and make sure to not touch anything. Feel free to ask questions throughout. I work mainly in the admissions office, so if you are considering applying to one of our Healer courses I can offer plenty of information about that.”

The group all nod, Albus struggling to take all the information in given how fast she was talking, but before he has chance to mention it to Scorpius the group are already being lead down an ovular shaped corridor. On the walls hang curved portraits of former famous Healers who have attended the Academy or worked in their hospital wing, and various charmed paper aeroplanes fly overhead to deliver messages around the entire building. Clementine’s heels echo loudly as the gaggle of wizards follow eagerly behind her; Albus wishes he could be excited, he does, but the orange gowns are making him a little queasy.

“We currently admit patients who have been cursed with non-threatening maledictions. So, for example,” Clementine explains, waving her arms to doors as they pass in a manner that reminds Albus extraordinarily of Scorpius. “Patients who have been hit with the Flagrante Curse. It’s normally used on objects, but sometimes people case it on others. It doesn’t kill the person, but it makes them unable to work or be touched, because it makes their skin burning hot. Other curses include more recently created, or discovered, curses that cause wizards and witches to forget their native language and speak a combination of other languages, meaning it’s impossible to understand them. Curses that make people sweat blood, cry venom. Things like that.”

Scorpius nods beside Albus; Albus imagines if he had a notebook on him Scorpius would definitely be making notes. They walk through the ward, past Healers levitating vials and cauldrons bubbling with mysterious scents above their heads. Through open doors they can see patients being treated with different types of leaves, or with several Healers around their bed casting different counter-charms. The floor squeaks under their shoes, and Albus can’t help but feel uncomfortable on behalf of the patients who are living here and have to be ogled at by tourists.

“Have you successfully come up with any counter-curses recently?” A small child asks from the front of the group.

Clementine smiles at him. “We have indeed. There was a curse that spread in France about ten years ago which made it impossible for witches and wizards to eat anything other than nut products. Which is inconvenient as it, but then people with nut allergies started to show the curse in their system. Our Healers worked non-stop and finally found a potion that combats the issue. It contains crushed pumpkin seeds and willow tree sap among other things, and has to be drunk every six hours. But it prevents the curse, and has healed people entirely.”

Scorpius stares in awe at Clementine as they walk further down the corridor and pass through a set of doors that leads them towards the research wing. Albus will admit that this is all very interesting, and he finds it admirable that people are working on cures for curses that completely wipe people off their feet, but there’s still something about this place he’s not enjoying. Or, he thinks, maybe it’s just Clementine he doesn’t like.

Clementine and the way she keeps smiling at Scorpius whenever he gasps or whispers something to Albus about a room they pass. Ridiculous, honestly.

“Currently we have fifteen wizards and witches training here with us. Because school curriculum around the world varies, and some places don’t teach mathematics or some of the sciences, we have a four year training programme. The first year is a foundation year where students learn the basics of Healing and get a grounding on the way the body works. Then students can tailor their training to particular disciplines, and as they train they work alongside professionals and tend to patients. It’s a very hands on programme, which is needed in an industry that is constantly growing and developing.” Clementine answers a question a witch around Albus and Scorpius’ age asks as they pass into a dark corridor where, though arched windows, they can see Healers working on potions.

They hunch over charred tables and idly wave their fingers in circles to mix the ingredients as their potions brew. Plumes of blue smoke and splutters of thick, green liquid overflow from the cauldrons, and certain witches and wizards scribbles notes onto parchment, possibly making recipes, Albus thinks.

“How selective are you?” Scorpius asks.

Clementine beams as Scorpius finally asks a question, and she crosses her hands over her heart as she answers. “We take between twelve to twenty trainees each year. It truly depends on how strong you prove yourselves to be during the examination.”

“Examination?” Albus inquires.

Clementine looks a little less impressed to hear Albus’ voice, but maintains her polite façade. “Indeed. We do a written and practical examination as part of the application process. The written exam tests your basic potion-making knowledge and gives you some critical-thinking questions that test your decision-making. Then in the practical exam you’ll be given a variety of ingredients and very basic instructions, and you have to apply your knowledge to make your allocated potion to the best of your ability.”

“Do you know the name of the potion beforehand?” Someone else asks.

Clementine shakes her head. “No. You just get simple instructions and a tonne of ingredients. You’re expected to work it out based on what information you’re provided with, and using what you already know from school.”

Scorpius nods along, mentally memorising all the instructions to this application process. Albus mildly hates the idea of Scorpius coming here; whether that’s because it would mean he’d be very far away in Marseille or because he’d be around this Clementine girl, Albus doesn’t really know.

The group continue to walk idly down the corridors, peeking in and pausing to watch as fires erupt from the cauldrons and different shaped bubbles float to the ceiling. Clementine drifts from person to person, asking what has brought them to the Academy and how they have enjoyed the tour so far. Albus doesn’t notice her appear behind them, but suddenly she is squeezing between him and Scorpius and swinging her arms far too enthusiastically for his liking.

“So,” Clementine says, her accent thicker than Albus recalls it being at any point during the tour. “You’re interested in Healing?”

“Incredibly.” Scorpius smiles.

“You’re from England, _oui_?” She continues. “So I assume you graduated from Hogwarts?”

“We did,” Scorpius says, trying hard to involve Albus back into the conversation. “I’ve been working towards wanting to be a Healer for a very long time. I guess I’m just… scouting the options I have.”

“I think you’d fit in perfectly here,” Clementine smiles. “_L’academie_ is the perfect place for wizards who want to train to be the very best. I know the Hogwarts curriculum is very… limited. But I can just tell you have the potential.”

“You can tell all that from an hour long tour?” Albus asks. And, okay, he doesn’t mean for it to come off so snappy. But Clementine smells strongly of peppermint and apple and it’s making him a little sick and, combined with those _stupid_ orange gowns, he is gradually losing patience with her. Plus, Scorpius sort of keeps looking at her with moony eyes, and he doesn’t like that much either.

“Al…” Scorpius mutters, subtly flicking his ear behind Clementine’s back. “But, uh. Yeah. Hogwarts doesn’t have the broadest class choice, but I’ve been reading books on Healing for years. I sort of taught myself when I realised this was what I wanted to do. Thought it would be best to give myself a head start.”

“_Tres intelligent_,” Clementine smiles. “_Personnellement, j’espere voir bientot._”

Albus glowers at the back of Clementine’s head. It’s almost like she knows he can’t speak French.

“_Merci_,” Scorpius smiles. There’s a light colour dusting his cheeks, and he waves coyly to Clementine as she leaves the two of them to round back up the group and start to lead them all back to the entrance. “She’s nice.”

“She’s suffocating.” Albus says.

Scorpius rolls his eyes, gently brushing his hands over Albus’ shoulders. “Stop being negative.”

“I’m not.”

“You _are_,” Scorpius counters. “You’re being your normal closed off, spikey self. What happened to this trip being a chance to open ourselves up to new experiences? New people?”

Albus stares at Scorpius. They have a little competition for a few minutes, neither of them wanting to falter, and it only ends after Albus stumbles over a broomstick leaning against the wall. “I am very much welcoming the opportunity to meet new people,” he says. “But not people who are blatantly flirting with my best friend even though they are _way_ too old to be doing so.”

“You think she was flirting with me?” Scorpius asks. And _that_ colour is back on his cheeks again, and it takes all of Albus’ power to not throw a bottle of water in Scorpius’ face to get rid of it.

“It was sort of obvious.”

“Huh… guess I’m bad at detecting that then,” Scorpius says. Albus nods. “Anyway. Bit hypocritical of you to lecture me about older women considering _your_ history.”

Albus playfully elbows Scorpius. “Shut up. You know that was an emotional blip. I was incredibly stressed and lonely and that _person_ appeared and paid me attention. It was a fleeting moment of confusion. Besides, you should know better than anyone that the whole being a _woman_ part is now very much _not_ my type.”

“Right,” Scorpius smiles. “As if I could forget.”

And… Albus doesn’t really know what that means. But then Scorpius is grinning at him and leading them out the door, and he doesn’t really care about trying to understand it right now. At the current moment in time, the sweet French sunshine warming his skin and the even sweeter soft touch of Scorpius’ hand guiding him through the streets of Marseille, he thinks his priority is following Scorpius to the end of the Earth.

⚡

**25th July**

“_Merci beaucoup_,” Scorpius says as the two of them drag their bags down the spiral staircase one last time. Madam and Monsieur Beaulieu stand at the tiny door to the house, Madam holding a little bag full of what Albus assumes will be her insanely tasty ginger-nut biscuits. “Truly. It has been an honour staying in your home.”

“Oh, hush,” says Madam Beaulieu. “The pleasure has been all ours. You’ve been absolutely wonderful guests.”

Albus feels a little bit teary as they hug their hosts goodbye. He didn’t expect to find such a connection with the old witch and wizard who cooked them breakfast and listened to their rambles every time they returned from their adventures. But the Beaulieu’s had been so endlessly accommodating, so kind and full of time for either of their queries, that he really doesn’t want to leave.

“Merci,” Albus says, still working on his accent. Five days in France isn’t enough to hide his awful southern English dialect. “You’ve been so kind to us.”

“Oh, Albus,” Madam Beaulieu says, pulling something out the pocket of her apron. Albus recognises it as one of the empty bottles from the mantle, and he takes it with gentle and loving hands. “I’ve seen you admiring them since you two arrived. It is a perfume bottle. As you have noticed I collect them. Our female, and male, guests often leave their perfume and cologne behind, so I empty the bottles and charm them to constantly smell like whatever the scent was. It’s a way to remember the people who come here. And I just think you’d like to have this one, to remember us.”

“Madam Beaulieu…” Albus murmurs, clutching the bottle to his chest. “Merci beaucoup. So, so much. I don’t think we’ll be forgetting you two any time soon.”

“Stay in touch, please. Postcards, letters. Anything,” Monsieur Beaulieu says, patting the two of them on their backs one last time. “We will miss you.”

“_Au revoir_.” Scorpius says, bowing his head as he steps out the door into the early morning sunlight.

Albus smiles at his hosts once more. “Au revoir.”

They both exhale and watch as the tiny door to the house vanishes from their sight after they leave. Just like that, Albus thinks, the first five days of their trip are complete. Albus feels himself tear up a little at the thought of not returning to _L’hotel Demi-Lune_. And, for once, he doesn’t scold himself for feeling nostalgic.

Scorpius wraps an arm around Albus’ side to give him a half-hug, letting his arm drop to around his waist as they start to walk away. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go find the broom rental place.”

⚡

The rental shop reeks of oil. It smells vaguely of how James’ room used to smell during his Hogwarts days, Albus notices, and he has to control his breathing to not get overwhelmed at the sense of _home_ that floods his system.

Scorpius heads over to the counter to pay for two rental brooms, coming back with two golden tokens that they have to exchange at their given time-slot. Apparently, because this broom port is the most popular choice for wizards and witches leaving France and heading elsewhere in Europe, everyone is given a timeslot so the respective wizarding boards of their destinations know when to expect them to arrive. International travel is all very confusing to Albus, and he’s incredibly grateful for Scorpius and his ability to understand the logistics of travel and the legality of crossing the borders for all the different countries.

“I got us some tea while you were gone,” Albus says, handing the Styrofoam cup to Scorpius. “We can just sit and drink and wait for our numbers to be called.”

“Thanks, Al,” Scorpius smiles. They sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall in the waiting room seeing as the building is packed and all the seats have been taken up by people who arrived before them. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“To fly?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods. “Yeah. I know it’s not our first time flying. But this is long distance, international flying, and according to the weather it’s cloudy and misty outside.”

“You’ll be fine. If you fall I’ll fall after you,” Albus says. “We can get some more use out of our cushioning charms. Those have always been our speciality.”

Scorpius grins at him and gently taps their paper cups together, breathing contently after taking a long sip. “You know,” he says. “I knew this trip was going to be absolutely amazing, but it’s somehow exceeded all my expectations. Being here, with you, doing things together and just… growing together. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Albus leans over to pinch Scorpius’ cheek. “You’re cheesy.”

“I’m happy.” Scorpius says.

Albus smiles. From the reception area a witch holds her wand to her throat and declares “_numéro trente et un et trente-deux”_. Scorpius nods as he translates the numbers on their tokens, holding a hand out to heave Albus up off the floor.

“Me, too,” Albus says, dusting off his jeans and picking up his bags. Scorpius looks expectantly at Albus as he waits for him to head towards the door leading to the brooms, lips curled into a soft, sweet smile. “Let’s go to Spain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if there are any errors in the french parts - i'm not familiar with the language but tried my best. also forgive if there are any inconsistencies with the geography of france. i stared at maps for ages and tried to make the locations as realistic as possible (apparently i didn't think about how hard it would be to write a travel fic when i've never been to most of the countries i'm writing about haha). love always <3
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


	3. spain

**25th July**

Albus can feel it in the air when they cross over the border from France to Spain. He doesn’t really know _how_, but something around him changes and he knows they’re in a different country. Something in the way the warm breeze around him feels stickier on his skin, or the clouds that they fly among contort into different shapes.

Flying internationally by broomstick is, Albus can confirm, utterly terrifying. Constantly having to dive out the way of birds or skirting around particularly thick clouds to make sure he doesn’t fall off, combined with the fact he has to keep up with Scorpius as to not get lost in the _middle of the sky_, is a rather stressful task. Sure, it feels liberating to have the sweet air swatting over his cheeks and brushing through the delicate strands of his hair; and perhaps the rush of adrenaline that floods through his blood and tingles the tips of his fingers is a feeling Albus knows he won’t be able to replicate. But when he riskily glances at the world below him, the fleeting and blurring images of beaches and twirling roads and brown-squares that he assumes are houses, all those pleasantries leave his mind and he is once again reminded that he is petrified.

They land in the middle of what Albus thinks is a forest. Trees of the most vibrant green shade surround them, some of their leaves having fluttered off the branches and nested in Albus and Scorpius’ hair as they carefully – or, in Albus’ case, sort of clumsily – navigated through the thicket and to the ground.

Albus shakes off the grass and dirt that stick to his sticky arms and ruffles up his hair; he’d been blessed with his dad’s hair type, much to Albus’ dismay, so he looked like he’d been dragged backwards through a bush on the best of days, but still, he didn’t fancy having little twigs and specs of dirt floating about up there.

“What do we do with the broomsticks?” Albus asks. Scorpius brushes his shoulders clean and flicks off clumps of grass that have fallen into his hair, smiling brightly at Albus as if it was the first time he’d seen him in months. “We’ll look a bit odd if we walk into the middle of Barcelona with these. Also, you’re looking at me funny.”

“We leave them here. They’re charmed to disappear after being inactive for five minutes, and they reappear back in France,” Scorpius says, taking both broomsticks and hiding them in the middle of a bush so that if any Muggles were to walk past, they wouldn’t see the sticks lying about. “And I’m not looking at you funny. Just thrilled we both made it.”

“Hey,” Albus frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? You were expecting me to fall off, or something?”

Scorpius smiles. “I thought nothing of the sort,” he says. He grabs a handful of Albus’ shirt, a _Bent-Wing Snitches_ band shirt he'd picked up after seeing them perform at the Quidditch World Cup, and drags him out of the clearing towards a road. “We need to find the Muggle metro stop. The instructions James gave us say to go to the L3 metro stop, whatever that is. Then take two buses to where his boat is secured.”

“Wait,” Albus says. “Boat?”

Scorpius looks at him. “Uh. Yeah? Did you not realise he lived on a houseboat?” he asks. “In Barcelona Port.”

“Uh, no. I thought he meant a flat, or something. How does he live on a boat?”

“I mean… it’s quite simple. He just, you know, bought a boat. Has a place to keep it… lives on it.” Scorpius murmurs.

Albus gently shoves him in the shoulder as they follow the signposts to the Metro stop. “You’re being pedantic.”

“You’re just easy to rile up,” Scorpius teases. “Pushing your buttons is a very easy task.”

⚡

The walk through the park towards the Metro station is beyond tranquil and sweet. The air is crisp and warm on Albus’ cheeks, and he knows without seeing that his skin is a blossoming red colour from the physical exertion of walking all the winding streets. As they walked among the swelling heat around them, past tourists and locals riding bicycles, the two of them discovered they’d landed in a place called _Park Güell_ and had unintentionally snuck in since they hadn’t paid the admission cost to the gardens.

They saunter past serpentine benches and from the height they’re at can see the famous almost chessboard like layout to the Barcelona streets. Albus can’t take his eyes off the fascinating architecture that they pass as they follow Scorpius’ map towards the Metro stop they need, eyes raking over the peculiarly artistic designs that stretch into the sky and feel out of place in a public park. He pauses their walk as they approach the edge of a guided tour group, having deliberately undone his laces so he could listen to a bit of history about the place without looking like they were intruding. Scorpius stares at Albus as he spends far too long redoing the elegant bow on his trainers, but Albus manages to catch a decent amount of information before they continue the journey.

While knelt on the floor Albus listened as the guide explained how the design of the park had been assigned to famous architect Antoni Gaudi, who had then exquisitely designed all the intriguing buildings and layout of the park. All the decorative murals and iconography Albus had picked up on their walk made more sense now, knowing that the ideas all came from the genius of a renowned architect. They walk past delicately placed viaducts that flow alongside the hills of the estate, bending in line with the incline and following like a constant companion as they continue to the edge of the park and appear at the entrance.

The two of them pass under the archways, ignoring the gaze of those in charge of admission in case they were caught out for having technically snuck in, even if that wasn’t their intention. By the time they reach flat ground Albus is already exhausted, the Spanish heat sinking into his skin and knocking against his skull with every footstep he takes.

“You okay?” Scorpius asks. His face is the picture of concern as he looks at Albus, hand pressing to his friend’s forehead as he slows down the pace of their walking. “You look incredibly faint.”

“That walk…” Albus says. “Was tough. With all the sun and heat, I think it’s just tired me out.”

“You need to drink some water,” Scorpius says. He pulls Albus under the cover of a store marquee, and Albus’ body is immediately grateful for the momentary shade. Scorpius fishes through his rucksack to pull out a bottle of water, tentatively holding the back of Albus’ neck as he watches him drink. “Do you have a headache? I don’t have a Cranium Draught on me, but maybe James will?”

Albus shakes his head, swiping a hand over his mouth once he’s drunk. “Stop being silly, I’m fine. I just needed some water.”

“You don’t look fine,” Scorpius insists. “Maybe there’s a Muggle medicine place around here. What do they call them?”

“Pharmacy? My Aunt talks about them sometimes.”

“Right, pharmacy,” Scorpius says, scanning the map for any indication of what he was looking for. “Merlin, I wish I’d taken Spanish lessons when I was a kid. Would be really helpful in this current moment in time.”

Albus chuckles, though regrets it straight after as it increases the thumping of his head. “Well, how was baby Scorpius supposed to know that in the future his best friend would be fucked in the middle of Barcelona?”

Scorpius shrugs. When he looks back at Albus he frowns even deeper. “You don’t look well at all,” he says. “Do you feel weak on your feet?”

“Did I blank out for four years and wake up in the future world where you’re suddenly a fully trained Healer?” Albus jokes. Then he wobbles, and as he blinks his eyes struggle to focus on what’s in front of him. There’s suddenly three Scorpius’ instead of one, and while that would be a _wonderful _world to live in, at this current moment in time Albus doesn’t quite like the several iterations of his best friend.

“Whoa, whoa,” Scorpius says, gradually lowering Albus down to the floor. Some tourists bustle past them and cast confused glances their way, and Scorpius tries his hardest to shield Albus from the light and the heat and the pressure. “Hey, you’re all good. You’ll be fine. We can take it slow.”

_Merlin_.

“You’re overreacting.” Albus insists.

“I’m truly not,” Scorpius says, gently pushing Albus back down when he tries to get up. The feeling of Scorpius’ palm on his shoulder burns a little more than the pain shuddering in his mind from the sun. “Please stop moving. I know you’re stubborn and annoying in that way, but you need to stop fidgeting.”

Albus breathes deeply. He wants to shut his eyes for a moment of peace from the _loud_ atmosphere of Barcelona, but then he worries that he won’t open them again afterwards and immediately throws that idea out his mind. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just… I feel really hot inside and out.”

“We were walking for a solid thirty minutes. And you had no hat on… did you put sun block on before we left France?”

Albus stares at Scorpius.

“Right, well. That answers my question.” Scorpius sighs.

“How was I supposed to know that it would be excruciatingly hot here?”

“Because it’s fucking _Spain_, Albus,” Scorpius mutters. “What did you think the weather would be like?”

Albus chews on his bottom lip. He doesn’t have the energy to fight with or answer Scorpius, so he just lets his head fall back against the wall he’s leaning against and lets out a shaky breath.

“Sorry. I’m – I’m really sorry. That was mean,” Scorpius says. He pulls out a tissue from his rucksack and damps it with some of their water, pressing it to Albus’ forehead. “Didn’t mean to snap at you,”

“Stop apologising, you dork,” Albus chuckles. He gently squeezes Scorpius’ knee, letting it linger there for a second. “How much further is it to James’ place?”

Scorpius glances at the map again, pausing as he works out timings in his mind. “Another twenty minutes, I think? But most of it is on the Metro-thing. I think it’s like the Underground, but quieter. The station is only around the corner. Then you can just sit and relax for a bit.”

Albus nods. “Okay. I think I’ll manage that.”

“Here,” Scorpius says, pulling out a hat from his bag. It’s a beautiful baby blue colour, with a small embroidered snitch decorating the front. “This should keep the sun out your face and off your skin. Just keep pressing the tissue to your forehead. I’ll see if James or his girlfriend have anything in their place when we get there.”

Albus smiles as he pulls the hat over his head, letting Scorpius take his hands and pull him gently back to his feet. Scorpius gently squeezes them before letting Albus go, though one of his arms finds its way around his shoulders and helps keep him up as they begin to slowly walk to the station.

Scorpius is gentle and helpful as they cross the streets and walk down the bustling roads of Barcelona, constantly sheltering Albus from gaggles of tourists who threaten to bump into them with their wide strides and boisterous conversations. Albus can see Scorpius giving concerned looks in his direction every few minutes, and every now and again, when Albus assumes he looks particularly pale, Scorpius squeezes him. Reassuring. Always.

“Okay, this is where we need to be,” Scorpius says as they get to the platform. He fishes around in his bag for some Muggle coins, Euros, and looks around for where to buy tickets. “Where in Merlin’s name do I pay for things in here?”

“Ticket machine,” someone from behind them says. They spin on their heels and come face-to-face with a man in a suit, newspaper in his hands and eyes not leaving the words on the pages before him. “Tourists never seem to know how to pay. Over there.”

He nods in the direction of a rectangular box on the platform, Albus and Scorpius shuffling over there to escape the minutely accusatory tone of the Muggle. Scorpius stands in front of the screen and stares blankly at it, fingertips floating in front of various different options, none of which he dares to click.

“I…” Scorpius murmurs. “I have absolutely no idea what to do here.”

“Let me look,” Albus says, peeking over Scorpius’ shoulder. “I have more experience with Muggle things than you do.”

Scorpius gladly allows Albus to take over at the screen, instead tossing the coins between his palms and looking occasionally to the overhead board that declares that their next train is arriving in three minutes. “You’ve got three minutes,” Scorpius reads. “No pressure, though.”

Albus jokingly prods Scorpius’ side, leaning closer to the screen to try and make sense of all the choices. He’s used the Underground several times, since his Aunt Hermione insists on keeping in touch with her Muggle roots and often takes everyone on trips around the city, but this selection is quite confusing.

Albus manages to find a choice that he _thinks_ means two Single tickets, but he secretly hopes that there is no conductor on the train because, honestly, Merlin knows what he’s selected. “Okay, I think I got it.”

“You’re a genius,” Scorpius gently rubs Albus’ shoulders, coming back to the screen to find where the put the coins. “Um, where do I pay?”

Behind them, wheels screeching and footsteps sounding as people approach the end of the platform, their train pulls in. “Oh, come _on_,” Albus whines, pressing the damp piece of tissue tighter to his forehead to try and subdue the growing pain. “I have no idea. Why aren’t there any coin slots?”

The two of them crouch and bend and tilt their heads side to side trying to find where to pay. “Wait,” Scorpius murmurs. “It says card only. What does card only mean? I don’t have… any cards.”

“This is insane. Why don’t they take coins? What kind of place is this?” Albus says. He glances over his shoulder as the doors beep and open. “We need to pay.”

Scorpius looks around and sighs. He holds the side of his jacket out and discreetly pulls out his wand, gently flicking it to cast a spell on the machine. The screen miraculously changes to _THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE_ and their tickets shoot out into the compartment below. Scorpius pockets his wand and snatches the tickets, dragging Albus onto the train just as the doors slide shut behind them.

As they sit down, Albus taking the window seat and resting his head on Scorpius’ shoulder, they both sigh.

“That was fun,” Albus chuckles; the pounding in his head synchronises with his laughter. Even his body is laughing at him. “Bit more stressful than the nice walk in Paris.”

Scorpius smiles. “It’s all part of the adventure,” he says. “Try and relax. Have a little nap if you want, I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Albus doesn’t catch the end of Scorpius’ sentence. Instead he’s already drifting off, calmed by the cool air that filters around the train and the smell of vanilla and apple that oozes off Scorpius’ shirt.

⚡

Albus can’t work out how on Earth James, his sweet yet silly and constantly surprising brother, can afford to own a houseboat in the Port of Barcelona. Their footsteps are heavy and click on the jetty as they walk over the damp wooden slabs towards the number that James provided in his letter. Lines of boats fill the port, some people stood outside hanging laundry, eating lunch or sunbathing under the sweet splashes of sun that break through the clouds. Albus can’t imagine anything worse than sunbathing right now, but at this current moment in time his ideal activity is lying in a dark room with a dosage of Cranium Draught down his throat.

James and Sofia (Albus still isn’t used to thinking about his brother being so committed to someone that he becomes James _and_, but this whole trip has been full of surprises so far) own a houseboat right at the end of one of the branches that lead off the main jetty. It looks tiny, and Albus can sort of imagine how he affords the place if it’s that small, but it is also adorable in some kind of way. The mast is tall and pearly white, the windows open with lilac blinds fluttering against the window. Plants sit on the roof, some under shade and some pointed directly at the sun, happily drinking up the rays. The ropes are all intricately organised and wound up, the boat gently bobbing along with the soft current that tosses it lightly side to side.

Scorpius still has a tight arm around Albus’ shoulder, holding with more pressure than before as Albus admitted to feeling weaker the more they walked. Albus’ footsteps almost drag on the planks from how difficult it is for him to walk properly and, _Merlin_, he really wants to have a nap.

“Al!” James’ voice sounds before his body can be seen, and Albus looks up to see his brother jumping out the boat and walking towards him. At first he smiles, elated at seeing his little sibling after a while of being apart, though his lips fall when he sees how pale he is. “Whoa, hey. What’s up?”

James grants Scorpius momentary relief as he shoulders the weight of Albus on him instead, fingertips gently tilting Albus’ chin up so they can look at each other. Scorpius fiddles through the contents of his bag again, pulling out a somehow fresh, full bottle of water for Albus to drink from. When Albus doesn’t answer, he truly can’t summon the energy, James looks helplessly to Scorpius instead.

“I think it’s what the Muggles call Sunstroke,” Scorpius explains, damping the tissue a little more before holding it himself to Albus’ forehead. “We were in a park, I think it was called _Park Güell_? And we didn’t realise how long the walk would be to the Metro station. And he just… he had no hat or anything and he got really pale. I read about it in a book once.”

“Sunstroke?” James repeats.

Scorpius nods. “He has all the symptoms,” he says. “Headache, pale, he mentioned feeling nauseous, his skin is really hot and he’s all weak on his feet.”

James listens intently as the two of them shuttle Albus into the houseboat which, Albus feels like he should have expected, is insanely larger on the inside. The steps lead directly to a little sitting room and the kitchen, plush blue sofas outlining a coffee table and all pointing towards a Muggle television. There are books scattered all over the place, some stuffed onto an over-packed bookshelf, but most in odd places all around the room. There are two doors on opposite sides of the living area which Albus assumes lead to the two bedrooms, one smaller door to his left that must be the bathroom.

He would take in more details, but right now his eyes are focused on the criminally comfortable looking sofa and the patterned blanket that hangs over the back of the cushions. Albus lets himself be guided over the seat by his brother and best friend, gladly lying down after James clears some books off the cushions. Scorpius sets the bottle of water to his side and drapes the blanket over him, and he suddenly feels like he’s back in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts being tended to by Madam Pomfrey.

“Do you have any Cranium Draught? Or a Cooling Potion? I think those are the two symptoms we should get under control,” Scorpius says. Albus thinks he would be absolutely obsessed with how concentrated and determined Scorpius is if he wasn’t dealing with the worst headache in his entire life. Curse the sun, he thinks.

James sits beside Albus, right next to him on the adjacent seat, and presses the tissue firmly to his forehead. Albus hadn’t even noticed that his brother was still in his Quidditch uniform, hair dishevelled and hands more battered and bruised. He really did wish his brother would wear gloves, but he doubted this was the time to try and give a lecture on staying safe and not getting hurt.

“In the cupboard above the kettle,” James says. “That’s our medicine cabinet. I think there’s some Cranium Draught in there. If there’s none left pull out the red box, the Ibuprofen, it’s a Muggle medicine that does basically the same thing.”

Albus watches faintly as Scorpius comes back with a little red box, fingers inquisitively brushing over the braille indentations on the back and eyes scanning the ingredients list. “Wow,” Scorpius murmurs, popping out two little circular pills that look a lot to Albus like mints. “These are so cool.”

James and Albus both shake their heads fondly at Scorpius’ dorkiness, James gently propping Albus’ head up so he can take the pills with a mouthful of water. Scorpius sits beside the sofa on the floor, curled up between Albus and the coffee table, in an attempt to be as close to him as possible.

“They’re super effective, too,” James says. “Sofia isn’t too keen on Potions, so we made a deal to split the cabinet half and half.”

“Sofia!” Albus meekly says. “I haven’t even met her yet.”

James smiles and gently brushes his fingers through Albus’ fringe. “She’s not here right now. She’s at university,” he says, his breath smelling unusually minty as he leans over and speaks. “That’s a different level of education for wizards, Scorp. It would be like going to Hogwarts again after you graduate, but choosing one class to take and learn about in detail.”

“Whoa.” Scorpius repeats.

“I’m sorry,” Albus murmurs. “Drama king Albus has to roll up to his brother’s house and get sunstroke. Is that what you said it is, Scorp?”

“Yeah.” Scorpius says, though he’s already distracted by a book he found on the coffee table.

“Don’t apologise for being ill, Al,” James says. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of Albus’ head, somehow smiling even as he looks at the mess his brother came to him in. “Although, I do think it is the most Albus Severus thing possible to travel to Spain yet forget to bring a hat.”

“How was I supposed to know it was hot here?” Albus protests, again.

“Because it’s _Spain_!” James and Scorpius say in sync, again.

Albus gladly falls asleep after that.

⚡

“It’s been wonderful for the most part. I honestly just think the stress of flying and then the heat really got to him. He’s never been one for hot weather, has he?”

Albus can hear James laugh softly from his side as he rouses from his slumber. “He really isn’t,” James says. “On all the family holidays he would be begging to go inside or into a shop instead of being on the beach all day. The one year our parents took us on a Christmas holiday instead of a summer one… I think he almost passed out from happiness.”

Then Scorpius laughs from somewhere near him. Albus feels odd for eavesdropping; it’s not like James and Scorpius are talking about anything he isn’t involved in, but he’s always loved being an absent listener when people aren’t holding anything back from him.

“I feel a little bit awful for forgetting he’s not a warm weather person. I normally remember these things so I can prepare him, you know? Like how he’s allergic to kiwi? So at the house we were staying at in France I could tell the owner to not have kiwi in the kitchen for breakfast,” Scorpius says. “But it completely vanished from my mind that he’s sensitive to heat.”

“He’ll be fine, Scorpius,” James says, and then his fingers are back to gently parting through Albus’ hair. “He’d be in a much worse state if you weren’t with him, that’s for sure.”

Albus doesn’t need to have his eyes open to know that Scorpius definitely shrugs his shoulders, coy and reserved, in response. “I just like to think I keep him on the path when he risks tumbling off it.”

“You’ve been doing that for years, mate,” James chuckles. “Might tell him to leave this whole debacle out the next postcard he sends our mum. I doubt she’d find it comforting that it’s taken him a week to forget how to be a functioning human being.”

“Honestly,” Scorpius continues. “I imagine your dad would worry more.”

“Merlin, you’re right. He’d lose his shit if he knew Albus was passing out in the streets of Spain. Mum would probably tell him to be sensible but figure it was a sign he was having a decent time, but dad would freak,” James says, and Albus can hear the smile in his voice. “I miss being at home sometimes. But then I remember the world is wide, and this place is absolutely incredible, and I think I would be a much unhappier person if I’d stuck around in England any longer.”

“Guess that’s the problem with having a famous name,” Scorpius murmurs. “Everyone knows it and you can’t escape it when you’re at home. So coming out here… it makes sense.”

“But the problem with being a Potter, Scorpius, is that everyone in the entire world knows who you are,” James says, a little sadly. “Anyway, that was a tangent. Tell me again what your plans are while you’re here? I assume you aren’t sticking in Barcelona for the entire week.”

“Oh, no,” Scorpius says. Albus slightly opens the eye pressed closest to the cushions to glance at his surroundings. James is still sat right beside him on the sofa, legs curled and glass of water resting in his lap. And Scorpius is now slouched against the sofa, still on the floor but with a blanket underneath him. “We’re heading to Alicante tomorrow. And we’re stopping over in a small seaside house for the night. I read that the sky is very clear there, because of how high some of the peaks are and how clear the air is, so you can see stars and constellations. The history books mention a big Astronomy and Divination history?”

James nods. “Huge history there. I took Sofia for a weekend break there but she refused to let me read the stars for her. She was worried it would be something negative and, honestly, I’m convinced she was just really spooked out by the whole magic thing, still. But Alicante is really nice. Then…?”

“I’m really interested in seeing Seville. Nearly Headless Nick used to tell me loads of stories about ghosts in the castles in Seville, but I couldn’t find out a lot of information about it, so I’m not sure…” Scorpius trails off.

“I’ve never been to Seville, but I’ve always wanted to!” James perks up. “So you’re going there in two days? I could always meet you both and we can see Seville together. I know this is, like, a you and Al thing, but it’s not every day your little brother is in your country, so I’d quite like to spend some time with him.”

“I think he would love that.”

Albus chooses that moment to pretend to wake up. He stretches out his hands from under the blanket and releases a deep breath into the air. From his side both James and Scorpius sit up a little straighter and peer over his side. As he peels his eyes open, blinking a couple of times to clear the sleep and try and focus, he sees them both smiling at him, though there is a flash of worry in both their expressions.

“Pleasant way to wake up,” Albus says, propping a pillow up behind him so he can sit up right. “Two weirdos staring over me like I’m coming back from the dead.”

“Are you feeling better?” James asks. He’s holding a glass of water for Albus, which he assumes his brother summoned since it wasn’t on the table before, and almost forces him to take it and drink it.

Albus nods, relieved when his head doesn’t thump alongside the action. “I am. Still feeling a bit drowsy and my skin is still sort of warm, but my headache has gone.”

“That’s good,” Scorpius smiles, placing his hand onto Albus’ knee to gently squeeze it. He doesn’t take it away after, Albus notices. “James and I were just talking about what we’re doing in Spain.”

“Scorp mentioned Seville? And I suggested that I could come along, too?” James asks, eyes desperate for the permission of Albus.

Albus grins. “I think that would be really cool.”

James gently nudges his side, giving one more thorough look over his brother before finishing his drink and standing up. “If you’re feeling better, and up to it, of course,” he says. “Sofia finishes school in a little while and has suggested we go out for dinner.”

“You know what,” Albus smiles. “Going out for dinner sounds amazing.”

“Perfect,” James says. “When you’re dressed and ready to go we’ll head out. I know the perfect place for us to go.”

⚡

As he gets dressed Albus thinks he isn’t actually too keen on the idea of going out for the evening. The idea of being in a packed building with strangers, hot and sweaty and most likely drinking alcohol, makes his head feel heavy.

Then he looks at Scorpius.

Dressed in a slightly sheer, short-sleeved grey shirt tucked into pinstripe trousers, a dark green base colour with black and gold accents for the stripes, held up by a belt with his initials embossed on the buckle. The trousers cut above his ankles, showing his peacock feather tattoo again, and his shoes are laced with the thin rainbow ribbons they picked up from a shop in London one weekend.

And suddenly Albus decides that going out may not be such a bad thing.

⚡

When James said they go out for dinner, Albus expected some nice Spanish restaurant where they could overlook the ocean and drink sweet cocktails as the crashing of the waves blended with the live band playing next to the bar. What he did not expect, however, was a bar in the middle of Gothic Quarter where shoes are glued to the ceiling, Barbie dolls in risqué positions hang on the wall and the bar sells women’s underwear alongside traditional cocktails.

Walking into the door of _Sor Rita Bar_ is like a very realistic fever dream, Albus thinks. He’s clutching onto one of Scorpius’ belt loops as they walk past a sign that says “_Karaoke Este Miercoles!_” with plenty of locals and tourists already buzzing around the bar. The building is beautifully colourful; Albus admires as the walls are painted a sweet light blue colour, the beams across the ceiling and arches separating the room into different sections juxtaposing that with a bright pink colour. A heart mural made up of detached Barbie heads hangs on the wall, the bodies having been made into a lampshade along with empty cans of beer. Each wall has a different main attraction on it, Albus observes, from collages of different religious and famous figures to underwear dangling from hangers. The air is sticky with sweat and the stench of alcohol, and Albus already decides he’s ordering a glass of water before they even sit down.

“I can see Sofia,” James says, cocking his head to Albus and Scorpius as they follow him through the crowd to a little table towards the back near the stage where Albus assumes the karaoke is. Sitting on one of the stools, looking eagerly through the crowd with bright hazel eyes, is Sofia. “_Hola, mi amor._”

Albus watches as Sofia stands from her chair and brushes her fingers through his brother’s hair, and he can’t help but feel like he and Scorpius are intruding on a very sweet moment as James embraces and gently lifts her a few centimetres off the floor. A few dots of her makeup dusts over James’ shirt as she hugs him back with equal intensity, and Albus decides straight away she already likes her.

Sofia has loosely curled hair, slightly frizzy at the roots, that is falling out of a weak ponytail at the base of her neck. Some strands have already escaped from the hair-tie and flow over her shoulders, stopping just above her collarbones. Her dress is a deep red and floral pattern, cap sleeves showing delicate tan lines over her skin. James gently brushes his fingers over the train-track tan lines as if he’s painting her skin, and the two of them are lost in a quiet Spanish conversation until Sofia breaks their gaze and instead looks to Albus and Scorpius.

All Albus can do is smile. He’s still not good with new people.

“Is this the famous brother?” Sofia asks. And her voice is heaven in a sound, Albus thinks. Deep and laced with fragrances of Spanish that ooze in the way she says her _s_’s and _r_’s.

James turns to look at his brother, face confused as if he’d forgotten he brought the two of them along. Albus can see his expression change, like a light being flicked on and off again, and James gently drags them both closer to the table.

“It is. Brother and his best friend, though… Scorpius is essentially family at this point,” James laughs. One of his hands is glued to Sofia’s back, running over the bumpy elasticated neckline of her dress, and the other gestures between his two companions. “This is Albus. My brother, a sweet soul, possibly the loveliest person you’ll ever meet even though he’s a tough nut to crack. And this is Scorpius. Said best friend, basically family, absolute genius and would probably sacrifice himself for anyone ten minutes after meeting them.”

Sofia laughs at that, nodding along to everything James says.

“And you two,” James continues. “This is Sofia. Creative writing student, incredible baker and easily the person I love most in this world.”

And… _Merlin_, Albus thinks. This is all sickeningly adorable. James keeps looking at Sofia with a moony gaze after every word he says, and it makes him feel a mix of soul-crushingly jealous yet also overjoyed that his brother – renowned prankster and usual non-committed heartbreaker – has someone to be moony about.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Albus smiles, holding his hand out for Sofia to shake. She ignores that though, and comes straight in to hug and kiss him on his cheeks instead.

“You too, Albus. Or Al? James calls you both. Because, you know, he talks about you all the time.” Sofia says. Her breath is minty and sharp, which explains why James’ was the exact same earlier.

“I don’t mind. I’ve grown to find Al a decent nickname.” Albus says. And it’s true, he really has. He used to despise it, and he remembers constantly giving his family the cold shoulder during his fourth and fifth year when they would keep using it instead of his real name. But now he’s come to terms with the weight of the name he’s been given, and life is a lot easier because of it.

“Right, well. It’s lovely to meet you finally, Albus.” Sofia says, turning to Scorpius with a bright smile.

“Scorpius Malfoy,” Scorpius says, bowing to Sofia for some reason. “Mucho gusto? I’m sorry, Spanish isn’t one of my best languages.”

Sofia grins. She pulls him in for a hug too, seeming to deliberately avoid touching her face to his shirt. “_Mucho gusto,_ Scorpius,” she says. “I love your outfit, by the way.”

Scorpius flushes. It’s not an embarrassed or swooning blush, Albus notes. He also notes in his mind that it’s ridiculous he can distinguish between the types of blush that Scorpius’ cheeks turn; he supposes it’s a testimony to how close they are and how much time they spend with each other, but it’s also possibly because he stares at his best friend too much.

“Thank you,” Scorpius smiles. “I recently discovered that there’s more to life than school uniforms, jeans and jumpers.”

“It’s absolutely incredible. Your _trousers_! _Increible_!”

“Babe,” James says, gently peeling Sofia away from Scorpius. “I’m right here.”

Sofia jokingly rolls her eyes and kisses the hand James uses to pull her away. “Maybe if you dressed as well as Scorpius does you would have my full attention all the time.”

“You love my clothes.”

Sofia shrugs. “They’re decent,” she says. “Anyway. I’ve had a horribly long day in class, so I’m going to get drinks. What am I getting?”

“Usual for me, my love.” James says, slumping into one of the chairs and crossing his legs in a bizarrely uncomfortable looking position.

Sofia nods. “And you two?”

“Um,” Albus says, looking to Scorpius, who is examining a menu he definitely can’t read hanging above the bar. “I’ll just have water.”

“Water?” Scorpius asks. “That’s so boring, Al. I say we split a spread of their Honey Rum shots. They sound fascinating.”

“Honey Rum?” Sofia asks.

Scorpius looks to Albus with _that_ expression. With his sweet lips pursed and pouting and glittering eyes seemingly turned up two notches to make him look especially endearing. Albus shoves him for being so pretty. “Honey Rum shots it is.”

Sofia and Scorpius squeal from pleasure at having converted Albus from his choice of water. Sofia heads off towards the bar, light on her feet and gliding a few centimetres above everyone else with ease, and Scorpius pulls Albus to sit down next to him. Their chairs are impossibly close to each other, their knees knocking until Scorpius takes it upon himself to rearrange the table. He turns his own chair to the side to lean against the wall, tugging Albus’ close so Scorpius can sit down and rest his legs over Albus’ lap, feet dangling happily as he looks around the bar. Albus instinctively lays his arms over Scorpius’ shins, fingers running up and down the stripes on his trousers.

“I love this place,” Scorpius says, eyes currently glued to the display of X-rated Barbie dolls on the wall. “It’s… so incredibly eccentric.”

“It’s pretty rad, right?” James says. “First time Sofia brought me here I thought it was a crazy person place. But the people are all so lovely and the décor is so different it’s impossible to resist.”

“I think we should do karaoke.” Scorpius says. Albus can feel Scorpius’ eyes penetrating his temples without having to look up from his lap.

“I completely disagree.”

Scorpius huffs. “Why not?”

“Karaoke in a Muggle bar in Barcelona, while I’m recovering from sunstroke, in case either of you forgot, sounds like the most humiliating thing in the world.” Albus chuckles.

“Nobody knows us here!” Scorpius whines.

“Scorpius,” Albus finally looks up, staring incredulously at his dear friend. “My older brother is sat right there. You think I’m going to give him more blackmail to hold over my head?”

“Al, brother,” James laughs. “Nothing is ever going to beat the time I came into your room and saw you hiding newspaper interviews with Goçalo Flores under your–”

“I will hex you, James.” Albus interrupts.

“Wait, what?” Scorpius smirks. “The Brazilian Quidditch player? The one you had a poster of in our dorm room?”

“He was a good Quidditch player!” Albus groans.

“You _hate_ Quidditch!” Scorpius says.

Albus retorts with “only _Hogwarts_ Quidditch” and the same time James mutters “it’s not the Quidditch Albus was interested in”, and Albus is glad for their overlapping dialogue so Scorpius doesn’t hear what his brother says. Albus makes an effort to kick James’ shin under the table, though, but James can’t retort as Sofia returns with drinks at this time. She sets out two cocktail glasses in front of her and James’ space, lining up a few shot glasses for Albus and Scorpius.

“I got you water as well, Al,” Sofia says, gently setting the jug and empty glass to his side. “Even if your friend thinks it’s boring.”

Albus thanks her quietly, grateful to have the cool water to drink to wash away the redness he can feel blossoming over his cheeks as he remembers the incident James was talking about.

“Anyway,” James says, still smirking over at Albus. “We were just trying to convince Al to do karaoke, because he’s saying it’s humiliating.”

“Oh, it’s one hundred percent humiliating,” Sofia says, top lip shimmering pink from her drink. “But it’s also the single most exhilarating thing you’ll do in your life. Once you’re slightly tipsy and the rest of the bar are wasted out their minds, getting on that stage will make you feel like you’re a rock star performing in a stadium.”

James nods in agreement. He has his arm slung around the back of Sofia’s chair, fingertips idly curling around strands of her hair. _Sickening_, Albus thinks. “It’s true. Sofia and I do an amazing duet of Creep by Radiohead.”

“Of what by who?” Scorpius asks.

“Amazing Muggle band,” James says. “Not sure it’s up either of your alleys, but it’s a great song.”

“Amazing _band_,” Sofia corrects. “No need for the Muggle.”

“Oh, of course,” Scorpius says, fingers outlining the rim of one of the shot glasses. “I completely forgot that you aren’t a witch. So this… whole thing is a bit wow, isn’t it? You know, James’ job and all that.”

Sofia chuckles. “I mean, it’s a lot to wrap your head around. He told me on Halloween last year. I thought he was joking,” she smiles. “Like it was an idea for a costume. But no. He was serious.”

“Halloween?” Albus asks, looking at James. “How long have you been dating?”

James shrugs. “Last June, maybe?”

“You’ve been dating for a _year_ and never thought to mention it when you came home or, you know, in a letter?” Albus asks. He isn’t sure whether he’s offended James didn’t trust him enough with this information or if he’s amazed he managed to keep it a secret for so long, but he supposes it’s a testimony to how much he cares for this girl.

“It never cropped up in conversation!” James insists. “_Anyway_, it’s true. In hindsight perhaps telling her on Halloween wasn’t the smartest of decisions. But the day after was fun when I brought her to Quidditch training and tried to ride a broom with her.”

“Fun and not terrifying in the slightest.” Sofia smiles. She presses a kiss to James’ cheek.

Scorpius is moony again. He looks utterly overjoyed for James, and Albus sort of can’t take his eyes off him.

“So you two do karaoke?” Albus asks.

Sofia nods. “We’re the king and queen of karaoke,” she says. “So after we perform our famous duet I beg that you two do something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I’ll need about ten more drinks before that happens.” Albus smiles.

“That can be arranged.” James says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

⚡

And it was arranged.

Albus loses track of time quite quickly. First there are shot glasses of Honey Rum (which, by the way, is _delicious_ in Albus’ opinion), then there are cocktails that bubble over the edge of the glass and ones that taste of mint and ones that are so crystal clear Albus keeps mistaking them for his glass of water. He thinks he’ll regret this in the morning, and that the awful headache he had today will be rivalled by the one that will sprout up tomorrow, but he’s with his brother and his pretty best friend and he’s having _fun_. So fuck the hangover, he thinks, and get him another drink.

James and Sofia’s rendition of Creep is insanely good. Or maybe he’s just so tipsy that any rock-sounding music electrifies his senses and sends the blood rushing straight to his fingertips. The bass rocks the walls, making the explicit Barbie dolls on the wall look as if they are _really_ getting involved in the sexual acts displayed (something tipsy Scorpius finds as humorous as Albus as he giggles continually at it with the tops of his ears dying a deep red). James and Sofia rock in sync to the music, Sofia’s hair flipping back and forth and cap sleeves on her dress falling further and further down her arms as she sings. James never really looks away from her, and he is completely mesmerised by the way she radiates up on the stage. As Albus watches them, the way they perform what seem to be choreographed movements and beam at each other as they split the lyrics, he thinks James has truly found his match. Someone to subdue the childish parts of his personality but heighten the boisterous and playful nature he’s always had. She’s matured him, Albus thinks, and it’s thrilling to watch his brother look so happy.

The drunken Muggle crowd absolutely adore the performance, too, singing along in English and Spanish and other languages Albus doesn’t recognise. The bar becomes one voice, a unified harmony that shakes the glasses and bonds everyone together in a three minute and fifty-eight second space of time. Albus assumes the song is very popular in Muggle culture, as everyone around them seems to know the words.

At some point during the song Scorpius grabs Albus by the hand and forces him to stand up, slotting the two of them among the thicket of bar-goers who have filled the little dance floor. They sink into the sultry chords and for a moment Albus truly thinks he’s floating in some other universe where his feet don’t touch the ground and his hands only feel Scorpius’ palm as they hold onto each other in subtle ways to not get lost in the crowd. There’s alcohol in his system and all he can hear and feel and smell and sense is _Scorpius_. It’s heavenly.

“We need to do one,” Scorpius says, right in front of him. He smells like sugar and rum. “It won’t be humiliating at all.”

“You do one first and if you get through it alive I’ll sing a duet,” Albus says. He gently bumps his glass against Scorpius’ nose, smiling though nothing funny is going on. “Convince me.”

Scorpius tilts his head to the side at the preposition and shrugs his shoulders. He takes Albus’ glass from him, some sour cocktail Albus doesn’t remember ordering but wouldn’t mind having again, and downs the remaining quarter. “I will.”

He switches place with James and Sofia as their song finishes, Sofia lingering on the stage to help him with a song selection. James latches onto Albus the minute they find each other in the crowd, James pressing a kiss to his brother’s cheek. “Isn’t this great? You and I, the Potter boys, night out in Barcelona.”

“I’ve missed you a lot.” Albus says. It has nothing to do with the conversation they’re having, but he feels like saying it nonetheless.

James squeezes him a little tighter. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“You’re going to love his song choice,” Sofia has joined their hug, her hair brushing against Albus’ cheek as she grips them both with bone-crushing force. “It’s a suave song, if I say so myself.”

A synth-pop song starts to play through the speakers, simple notes in a repeated pattern that are soon joined by airy drums and fine piano chords. Albus squints at the screen – _Like a Virgin_ by Madonna, apparently – then turns his gaze to Scorpius. A decision that is either the best choice or worst mistake he’s ever made in his life.

The glittery lights make his shirt more transparent, the grey material sticking to his skin from the sweat and faintly showing the little _A_ tattoo just above his hip and the little intertwined hawk and dragon one by his ribcage. His fringe is curling and little strands frizz under the heat of the lights, belt glinting like a little disco ball as he bounces from side to side while the song begins.

Sofia hands him a different drink, this one a gradient of orange to red-pink, a little umbrella sticking out the top. He sips at it and when he looks back up Scorpius is looking at him. No, Albus thinks. Not looking. _Staring_.

“Didn’t know how lost I was until I found you,” Scorpius sings. And he’s _decent_, is the surprising thing. The tone of his voice matches perfectly to the pitch of the song, and Albus drifts in and out of concentration to the lyrics as he finds himself, for the first time, intimidated by Scorpius’ gaze. “Gonna give you all my love, boy.”

If Albus’ mind wasn’t drowning in alcohol he would have noticed Scorpius didn’t change the pronouns of the song. But as Scorpius sings, Albus drinks and the synth-beats ricochet against his skull. The music embeds in his brain and weaves into his pulse and when he dares to look back at Scorpius he’s still looking. No, Albus scolds himself, staring.

To his side James and Sofia have folded into each other’s arms again, dancing effortlessly to the song as if they’ve known it their entire lives. James twirls Sofia under his arm and brushes his thumb over her cheeks before he kisses her. They’re so in _love_ he thinks. It’s impossible to feel jealous or nauseous as he glances at them, so absorbed in each other, because they’re impossibly happy and perfectly fit. Albus reads James’ lips as he whispers a tentative _I love you_, to Sofia, and it’s only then that he looks away. It’s not for him to invade in that moment. It’s so sweet and precious and _gentle _and, Merlin, Albus really would quite like to find someone to love like that.

Then he looks back to Scorpius.

His Scorpius. On a Muggle stage singing a Muggle song with his _stupid_ slightly see-through shirt and glittering SHM belt. “You're so fine and you're mine, I'll be yours 'til the end of time.” Scorpius sings. Albus looks to the peacock tattoo on Scorpius’ ankle and the matching one on his skin burns.

Albus stares at Scorpius. And Scorpius stares at Albus.

And… _fuck_, he thinks.

Perhaps he already has found someone to love like that.

⚡

**26th July**

They don’t see morning the next day. Albus can’t remember much from the evening, but the details that linger in his mind are ones that make him feel slightly ill. He can remember drinking a lot of alcohol, which is something he is genuinely considering never doing again. He can remember being close to Scorpius, possibly too close, and breathing in the alcohol on his breath, too. There were songs that were sung on stage, which Albus knows for certain he never stepped foot on, and there was definitely a performance by Scorpius.

A performance that made Albus feel very particular things and think very particular things, and he honestly wishes his sober mind had forgotten those details instead of more useful ones, like where in Merlin’s name he put his wand last night.

He remembers coming home very late, finger hooked through Scorpius’ belt loop, as always, and coming into the spare bedroom in James and Sofia’s boat. One bed. A detail that felt suddenly more significant in Albus’ mind as they collapsed onto the sheets and almost immediately passed out.

And now he’s awake.

He’s sat under a canopy on the deck of the boat, legs crossed on a blanket and eyes following the journey of a school of fish who swim around in the water below, sipping a Hangover Draught James has stocked up in the cupboard. Apparently it’s the only wizarding medicine Sofia allows herself to drink, because even she can’t resist something that cures a hangover in less than half an hour.

It’s past noon and Scorpius is still sleeping. Albus woke up and straight after looking to his friend, remembered every single thought that rushed through his head during the Madonna song from the night before. He couldn’t stand lying there, and didn’t feel like waking Scorpius up, so he slid from under the covers and headed outside instead.

He is sheltered from the sun as he sips on the draught and picks at a slice of toast, beads of sweat still managing to slither over his skin from the sheer humidity of Barcelona. Albus traces one finger over the outline of his peacock tattoo, thinking back to the night when they decided to attempt what Muggles apparently call stick and poke tattoos. Scorpius had read about them in a Muggle magazine lying about at the Potter’s house, and it was only after they’d drunk a couple of bottles of Firewhisky they snuck into the Slytherin common room that Scorpius finally convinced Albus to try them.

“Please,” Scorpius had said. “It’ll be fun! Like a permanent mark of our friendship.”

“This is so irresponsible,” Albus said, sipping at his drink. “You of all people should know this is irresponsible.”

“But fun! If we get infections I can, like, find a Healing spell and fix it.”

“What would we even get?” Albus asked.

Scorpius drank as he thought, deep breathing blowing puffs of whiskey-scented air onto Albus’ cheeks. “Peacock feathers? Like the ones at the Manor that you like? Peacocks are meant to represent watchfulness and protection. So, like, if either of us is feeling lost or sad we can just look at our skin and be reminded that hey, we aren’t alone. We have each other, and everything is going to be okay.”

Albus didn’t need convincing after that. But it took a few more glasses before he gathered the courage to let Scorpius poke the needle into him.

(He really should stop drinking).

“Hey,” Albus is pulled from his memories by the sound of Sofia’s voice as she sits opposite him. “How’s your head?”

Albus chuckles. “You know, all things considered, it’s probably in the best shape it’s been for the last couple of days.”

“That’s good,” Sofia smiles, watching the fishes that swim around her boat as she fiddles with her fingers. “I have a question for you. And I might be overstepping my boundaries since, you know, I’ve only known you a day. So let me know if that’s the case. But I’m… curious.”

“Okay… go ahead.” Albus says, nervously drawing his eyebrows together.

“You and Scorpius,” Sofia starts, leaning forwards and then backwards as she tries to work out how to articulate her question. “The two of you… you are…?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Albus asks, frozen in his seat.

Sofia smiles. “You know what I mean, Al,” she says. “You two are… friends?”

“Best friends.” Albus clarifies.

Sofia nods. She drinks from a mug Albus hadn’t realised she brought out with her. “But,” she says, cautious with how she talks. “You wish you were more than friends?”

Albus gathers the blanket underneath him in his fists, using it as an outlet for his anxiety. “I… I don’t know.” He says, truthfully. He doesn’t know what on Earth is going on in his mind right now, he just knows there’s lots fizzing about up there.

Sofia nods again, slow and thoughtful. “I thought as much,” she says. “That, you know, there was something going on.”

“Can you do me a favour and, like, not tell James?” Albus asks.

Sofia laughs quietly, lips curving into a precious smile. “You’re just like him,” she says. “With the whole not wanting to tell each other really important things about your lives because you’re worried what they’ll think.”

“It’s not the same as him not telling me about you.” Albus tries to argue, but he knows he’s already lost.

“Oh, come on, Al. You’re not an idiot,” she chuckles. “It’s exactly the same. He didn’t want to tell you because he was worried you’d think it was a joke or that you take the mick or react negatively. And you don’t want to tell him for the exact same reasons. It’s slightly mind-blowing. He never shuts up about you, you two look at each other like you’re the greatest gift the world has provided, and you’re so desperate for each other’s love that you hold back these details that would make your bond stronger.”

Albus sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. “I just don’t know what’s going on up here,” he says, gesturing vaguely to his brain. “And I don’t want to tell James until I work it out because I don’t want to lie to him or confuse him by telling him something I haven’t properly got to grips with yet.”

“Telling him your feelings isn’t a lie,” Sofia says. “Even if they do change, they’re feelings. They are supposed to change as you grow. You know when you finally tell him he’ll say something like ‘you should have told me to begin with’, just like what you said to him yesterday evening.”

Albus shrugs. “We’re a complicated family, us Potters.”

“No,” Sofia says, soft and sweet. “You’re an incredibly wonderful family who adore each other so much you want nothing more than to love each other and know each other as best as possible.”

Albus doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

“This thing with Scorpius,” Sofia continues. “I assume it’s only come on recently?”

Albus nods. “Last month or so. To be honest, it might have been there all along but I just repressed the feelings because he was dating my cousin and things got really complicated. And we’ve always had a rather… complex and intense friendship. So I probably just ignored them because they felt big and scary and I didn’t want anything else big and scary to happen after…”

“Oh, right,” Sofia laughs. “James told me about the time you two apparently almost destroyed the whole world together. Makes sense that you’d react negatively to feelings, then.”

Albus smiles, finally. “We’re complicated.”

“You’re sweet,” Sofia smiles. “Both of you.”

She goes to stand up, but Albus reaches out to stop her before she goes. “I’m not… I don’t…” he starts, but can’t work out what to say. “I don’t know what I am.”

Sofia tilts her head to the side. “You’re… a human.”

“No, I mean, like,” he says. “_Who_ I am. Who I _like_. What I like.”

“That’s not important,” Sofia explains. “Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. Boys, girls, both, neither, any. It’s not the most important thing at the moment.”

“What is?” Albus asks.

Sofia leans down to kiss the top of his head. “Working out how to make yourself happy again,” she says.

⚡

“So,” James says, standing on the jetty as Albus and Scorpius shoulder their rucksacks. “I’ll meet you two in Seville. At _Real Alcázar de Sevilla_, yeah?”

Albus nods. “Yep. We should be there in the morning, I’ll send an owl to let you know the exact time.” He says, letting out a quiet _oof_ as James pulls him in for a hug.

“Okay, cool,” James murmurs. “Have fun in Alicante. Don’t you dare take off that hat until you’re inside and drink plenty of water. I love you so much.”

Albus smiles. “I love you, too. Stop being sappy, you’re seeing me tomorrow!”

“That’s a whole day away.” James shrugs, releasing Albus so he can hug Scorpius next.

Albus rolls his eyes and turns to Sofia. “It’s been so nice meeting you. We’re coming back to Barcelona before we leave for Switzerland, so I’ll get to see you then.”

Sofia smiles and embraces Albus with a warming amount of love. “Of course, I wouldn’t let you leave my country without properly saying goodbye. Have so much fun, stay safe,” she says, lowering her voice for the next part. “Don’t stress yourself out, either.”

Albus nods as Sofia gently squeezes his cheeks. “I won’t,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Scorpius says, looking around the jetty to check if any Muggles are around. “We should Apparate now, Al, while there is nobody around.”

“Course, yeah.” Albus smiles, taking his place back by Scorpius’ side.

“We’ll see you two soon,” Scorpius smiles, waving one last time to Sofia and James. Then he turns to Albus, holding out his hand. “You ready?”

Albus nods. “As I’ll ever be.”

He looks at James. And he smiles. He’ll be okay, he’ll be able to work it all out and tell his brother and get the advice he needs to lower the speed of his thoughts back to normal. James nods at him, mouthing a delicate _I love you_.

And then he is gone.

⚡

They land in a living room. Albus keels over when the Apparation is completed, holding onto his knees and steadying his breathing as he tries to see through the wave of nausea in his stomach. Of all the magical modes of transportation, Albus truly hates Apparation.

“Just breathe through it, Al,” Scorpius says, hand on Albus’ back rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “I wouldn’t have suggested Apparation if we had another option of travel, I know you hate it. But the hangovers kind of, you know, took a few hours out of our day. This was our fastest option.”

“It’s fine,” Albus murmurs, pausing to breathe deeply. “I’m fine. Merlin, I despise that sensation.”

Scorpius lets out a low whistle as he walks around the room they appeared in, placing his bag down on the floor. “This place is so nice,” he says. “I can’t believe it fit into our budget.”

Once Albus’ nausea clears and he joins Scorpius on the little tour of their house for the evening, he nods in agreement at pretty much everything his friend says. “I know, right. I don’t think it’s the biggest of places, but it sure is nice.”

“Where did you book it again?” Scorpius asks, running a fingertip over the dust free mantle hanging over the fireplace.

“My Aunt Hermione told me about this Muggle website, thing, called Airbnb, I think? She used it to book a hotel for her and my Uncle Ron’s second honeymoon when they went to New Zealand.” Albus says, skimming through some Muggle magazines that have been left out on the coffee table.

The house they booked boasted in its description that it was situated right on the beachfront, a wonderful wooden balcony elevated over the shore so the sweet seaside breeze can wash over their faces when they step on it in the mornings. The décor is simple but sleek, black sofas set out around the fire and simple prints and paintings of the local area hanging on the walls. Blankets are loaded up in a newspaper stand and candles wait to be lit on coasters on the windowsills. The room smells of cotton and coconut, and Albus breathes in the fresh linen that cover the pillows and cushions on the seats. The lounge opens up straight into the kitchen and, therefore, the balcony. The kitchen is mixes of marble tops and crystal white cupboards, a fruit bowl in the middle of the island and various leaflets about what to do in the local area providing a little depth to the otherwise spotless room.

Albus shuffles into the one bedroom of the house, overwhelmed by the mustard and grey palette that greets him. The bed is huge, blankets delicately folded up and a mountain of cushions sitting by the headboard. Silk curtains flutter against the windowsill, and a fresh bouquet of sunflowers sits on the cabinet to the side of a mirror. Albus sets his bag down at the foot of the bed, idly dragging his fingertips over the soft, plush duvet. He thinks about how odd it is that the two of them, wizards, are infiltrating Muggle life in the simplest of ways. They’re about to fill the coffee table with books about astronomy and divination and are probably going to tell their futures with tea leaves using the fine china that has been left by the owners for them to use. They will blanket the place with essences of magic and will wipe it all clean before they leave, and nobody would ever know what had happened in here.

Mind-blowing, Albus thinks.

When Albus joins Scorpius back in the lounge he finds him cross-legged on the floor, leaning over a map of Alicante spread out on the table with books balanced in his lap and two glasses of water in front of him. Albus tucks up next to Scorpius, resting his chin on his knees and eyes watching intently as Scorpius internally creates an itinerary for them.

Scorpius has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. When Albus had questioned why Scorpius had layered a t-shirt over a striped long-sleeve shirt, he had the words “_because fashion, Al_” retorted back to him.

“So what’s the plan, Mr Tour Guide?” Albus asks, taking a sip from one of the glasses of water.

“According to the weather the sky is going to be crystal clear tonight. So, since it’s quite late and coming up to four,” Scorpius starts, pointing to a spot on his map. “I say we head to _Monte Benacantil_ for the afternoon. The castle there, _Château de Santa Barbara_, has a large astronomy and divination history, because of how high off the ground it is. The castle closes at eight, but we should get to have a little walk around. Then I say we find a clearing on the hill so we can try and read the movements of the stars and see if anything pops up.”

Albus nods along as Scorpius explains, trying to not get distracted by the way Scorpius traces his fingertips over paths on his map and over the covers of books that will tell them how to read tea leaves and constellations. It’s hard, though. With everything flying through his mind at the moment Albus can barely look away from Scorpius. He’s hopelessly praying that if he stares long enough, everything will click into place. Maybe, he thinks, if he looks long enough he’ll realise that Scorpius isn’t really that pretty and he was just making it up in his mind. If he looks hard enough he’ll be able to spot a flaw hidden somewhere in the contours of Scorpius’ face.

But all he can see is the softness of his grey eyes and the sweet smile lines that carve into his cheeks when Scorpius gets particularly excited about something. His complexion brightens like the sky once a cloud moves out the way of the sun, finally lighting up the world again, and Albus can feel his chest tighten.

This _can’t_ happen. Not here. Not on their great tour of Europe. Not ever, preferably, because this… would make things very complicated.

“Sounds perfect,” Albus smiles, tugging the map towards him so he can an idea of the route. “That… looks kind of far. And it’s sort of hot.”

“Don’t worry,” Scorpius smiles. “Alicante basically has an equivalent to the Knight Bus, except it’s a superfast taxi. You just hold out a coin and it comes to pick you up.”

Albus beams at Scorpius. “How do you find these things out?”

Scorpius blushes and shrugs. “I just know what books to read.”

“Well,” Albus gently ruffles up Scorpius’ hair, picking up the baby blue hat on the table to pull it on. “I say we put the books into practice and head out then, don’t you?”

⚡

The castle is mesmerising. It reminds Albus vaguely of Hogwarts, set atop of a beautifully sloped hill with intricate paths winding up the curves that lead to the turrets and remaining walls. It stands proudly above the rest of the land, sitting like a God in the clouds keeping a watchful eye on all the people who wander beneath it. Albus can’t tell where the castle ends and the rocky landscape begins, and makes tough work of taking in all the sights he can as their magical taxi shuttles up the roads towards the entrance. Parts of the remains hang over the ledge, seemingly dangling with no supports, and the rocks are a faded cream colour from being exposed to the sun all day, all year.

The air is cool on Albus’ face as they step out the taxi and pay entrance to the grounds. Scorpius picks up a Muggle map of the place and cross-references it with a wizarding guide he found in his mother’s library before he left home. Their shoes scuff on the dusty floor and the sun beats leisurely on their bare arms (Scorpius wisely chose to discard the long-sleeved shirt before they left), but being so high up allows the breeze to trickle over their cheeks and prevent Albus from overheating.

They stumble past a little café and top up their bottles of water, deciding to split a bag of apple slices to tide them over until they get back to eat later that night. They ascend a little staircase to approach a higher observation deck, Albus idly dragging his palm over the bricks that form the structure as they climb higher and higher. Blue pay-per-use telescopes are dotted around the clearings, staring at the ocean below like an archer would track its enemy. Similarly, adjacent to some of the telescopes are old cannons that haven’t been removed, also staring at the sea as if an enemy would soon approach the remains of the castle.

The sky blends from blue to pink to orange where the sun is beginning to set, peach-coloured clouds dotting the sky like blooms of cotton candy begging to be eaten. As Albus stares at the sky, leaning over one of the ledges, he hears a gentle click from behind him.

He turns and sees Scorpius pointing the disposable camera at him. “What are you doing?” Albus asks.

Scorpius shrugs. “It was a really pretty picture,” he says, pocketing the camera as he joins Albus at the ledge. “And this is a really pretty view.”

“The marina looks amazing, right?” Albus says, gladly breathing in the slightly salty air.

Scorpius nods beside him. “It really does,” he says, flicking through the map to find the tourist guide at the back of the booklet. “This place has an incredibly fascinating history…”

Albus chuckles, sensing where this conversation is going. “Go on, nerd. Tell me all about it.”

Scorpius playfully shoves Albus, but clears his throat as he repeats the information he’s already memorised. “The castle had so many different purposes and rulers, and it’s sort of amazing it’s been so well preserved after being taken over so many times. Forces led by someone called Alfonso XI of Castile, who gave it the Santa Barbara name, then the Aragonese took it over and rebuilt it following the command of James II. Then France took over, then England during the War of Spanish Succession... huge history. Fascinating history. Can you imagine so many different people working here, calling this place home, only to then be taken over by new forces?”

Albus nods along and leads them over to a bench that overlooks the Marina, situated between two turrets and away from the crowd of Muggles that snap photos everywhere they step. “Medieval history is intriguing. I can’t even begin to think about how it would feel to be standing in this castle as enemies approach, knowing it’s up to you and your friends to keep it from falling.”

Scorpius lets out a sad chuckle beside him. “Bit like the Battle of Hogwarts, huh?”

Albus pauses. “I didn’t think about it like that…” He says, gazing wistfully around at the remains.

“It’s almost like everything that happened to our parents was written in Muggle history before they even saw it coming. So bizarre.” Scorpius says, gently picking the petals off a daisy he found in a grassy patch near the bench.

“Anyway,” Albus changes the subject. “What’s the wizarding history, then? That’s what the Muggles used this place for, what about us?”

Scorpius perks right back up. He crosses his legs on the bench, the cuffs of his jeans rising up his legs to expose his developing tan lines, and turns slightly to Albus as he prepares to explain. “The wizarding history is _amazing_,” he starts. “Alicante became the base for a group of travelling Seers who were famous for their accurate prophecies and future-telling abilities. They would go from place to place to advise people on their relationships, their crop yield, things like that.”

“Right…” Albus nods along.

“But when the Aragonese came they were forced to work at the castle instead, and weren’t able to travel. So they were stuck here, trapped in the walls and confined to what limited belongings they could find. They would have to look at the stars when they were on watch, would have to scratch the floor with rocks and drag their fingers through the dust to read numbers. Before mirrors were invented they would mix water with dragon blood, something one of the Seers managed to hold on to when they moved in, to create a reflective surface. They could use that to see the future,” Scorpius continues. At some point in his speech he takes Albus’ hand and leads him to a corner of the walls, gesturing to little marks scratched into the brickwork that look a lot to Albus like numbers. “They were able to foresee when a new force would come and take control of the castle, and hid themselves in little rooms and blended in with the new culture that took over.”

“But what’s the point in divining the future if they could only tell each other what was going on?” Albus asks, running his fingers over some numbers etched in to the wall.

“They wouldn’t just tell each other,” Scorpius says. “They would divine together, then they would prick their fingers with rocks and write on leaves with their blood what they’d seen or prophesised. Owls would then come and take the leaves to the relevant person. They basically ran their travelling Seer service from up here.”

Albus follows Scorpius like a shadow as he shows him the turrets where the Seers would hide, pointing at bowls they’d use to replicate the reflectiveness of a mirror. “And then they’d read the stars in the night, I suppose?”

Scorpius nods. “The stars, the planets. They carved cylindrical shapes out of twigs and charmed them to act as telescopes. It really is intriguing how they took an awful situation and turned it into something to benefit them. But, I suppose, they spent their lives in this wonderful castle with the bright open sky above them. I imagine they had the best connection to the future and the celestial world from up here.”

“It does feel tingly, doesn’t it? Looking up at the sky. Almost close enough to touch the clouds.” Albus murmurs, eyes watching as a heart-shaped cloud drifts above them.

He can feel Scorpius staring at him. He would look back, but he’s afraid of his face betraying his composure and expressing all the fear and worry and nervousness that has been bugging him all day.

“Shall we have a wander around and then go get some more snacks?” Albus asks after the cloud has drifted too far away to see anymore.

He finally looks at Scorpius, who is looking at him. Scorpius smiles. “Sure, sounds great.”

⚡

The sky is dark, navy mixing with indigo mixing with burnt orange, when they finally find a clearing to make home for the next few hours. Albus’ watch tells him it’s coming up to ten in the evening, and as the clouds part and dissipate into nothing the stars begin to glitter above. Like sequins on one of Scorpius’ rather eccentric shirts.

Scorpius lays out a blanket over the grass and sets out the sandwiches and snacks they brought for their evening picnic, along with the astrology textbooks resting at the base of his bottomless rucksack. He folds up impossibly small on the blanket, completely different to how Albus lounges gladly over the blanket and spreads his limbs over more than a third of it. Albus picks at a bunch of grapes and sips at sparkling cider as he watches the stars form shapes above him, fleeting black, inky spots tainting his vision as birds shoot past to get back to their nests.

“I was always shit at astrology, I hope you remember,” Albus finally says, glancing at Scorpius. Scorpius with his head in a book. “I’ll be able to tell you what I see but I hope you aren’t expecting me to give you any meanings.”

“Oh, I remember,” Scorpius says, chewing on a mint leaf as he flicks through one particularly large textbook. “It’s why I brought these bad boys along. To make this easier.”

“So,” Albus says. “What exactly are we hoping to discover by reading the stars?”

Scorpius shrugs. “I don’t know. Something positive? I have no idea what the stars will tell us, or what our tea leaves will say, I just hope it doesn’t tell us we’re going to die a painful death, or something like that.”

“So no Grim?” Albus teases.

Scorpius grins and shakes his head. “No Grim,” he smiles. “Hopefully.”

“Tell me what I’m looking for.” Albus says.

Scorpius shuffles next to him and finally lies down, their hands momentarily brushing as Scorpius levels his sight line with Albus’. Then he lifts his arm and starts pointing to specific stars. “We’re looking for defined shapes, bright stars that seem to form lines, because those will be the constellations. The constellations all have links with Greek mythology, and Astrologers in the wizarding world have then carved meanings from the myths. So, for example,” he says. “That one there is Leo. Can you see the sort of rectangular shape with a pointed side, and the line that bends off it?”

Albus squints. “Yes! I can.”

Scorpius smiles. “Well, Leo is a constellation that is associated with the Nemean lion, slain by Heracles. It’s thought to represent either bravery or challenge, depending on how bright it is. Tonight it’s very bright, so that means that there will be an act of bravery in our futures. Or, well, one of our futures. The problem with stargazing as a duo is it’s kind of difficult to tell whose future we’re reading.”

Albus nods. “Bravery,” he repeats. _Of course_. “Which is the North Star? Isn’t that the one everyone stars with?”

Scorpius gently takes Albus’ hand in his and points it slightly to the left, right by a gorgeously bright star. “That one is the North Star. You find the North Star by identifying the Big Dipper, which is basically a saucepan-looking form of stars. Look up and right from the North Star,” he says, watching as Albus moves his hand. “You can see three stars that form an arc. And then four right next to it that form an upside down trapezium. It’s like a handle and a bucket, right? So people call it the Big Dipper, but I think it looks like a saucepan. But you use that to then find the North Star, since it’s the most obvious path to find.”

Albus is lost in the stars by this point. He can see the Big Dipper and Leo and the North Star, but he has no idea how to find more. It’s a maze of shining dots that seem to be keeping secrets from him. He looks to his side and drowns in the way the stars sparkle and reflect in Scorpius’ irises.

“What else is there?” Albus asks.

“Orion is there,” Scorpius says, again redirecting Albus’ hand to a pattern that seems oh so clear once Scorpius shows him. There are two slightly distorted squares on top of each other, with a line and a sideways arc joining to it. “Hunter. Son of Poseidon. Orion was killed by a deadly scorpion, which is ironically represented by the Scorpius constellation. But Orion was a hunter, searching for something, wanting to find something. So he represents desire. Desire to… make sense, to find fulfilment. He often represents a promise that clarity will come soon, that the person will find what is troubling them and will hunt it down.”

Albus lets out a shaky breath, eyes flicking from each individual star that makes up the constellation. _Desire_. It’s comedic, he thinks. The stars are mocking him. Or, really, they’re confirming everything he already knows. “So is your constellation up there right now?”

“Scorpius? Merlin, no,” Scorpius laughs. “Orion and Scorpius are never in the sky at the same time. Orion runs from the scorpion, doesn’t want to be near him. It’s either one or the other.”

Albus nods, slowly. Paths seem to become clearer to him the more he looks. He spots a shape that looks a lot like a U, or a wide bowl, a lopsided D without the straight line connecting the curve. “Hey,” he says, gently moving Scorpius’ hand to the path. “What’s that one?”

Scorpius squints. “Oh, that one is wonderful. That’s Corona Borealis. The Northern Crown. It was worn by princess Ariadne when she got married. She went through a lot of heartache on her journey, but it all led to find her happiness, her true love: her crown.”

_Merlin_.

“So,” Albus says. “What do all these mean in a larger picture? Surely they’re all visible to us at the same time because they create a landscape of future. Isn’t that what we were taught?”

Scorpius beams almost as bright as the North Star. “It is! Well done,” he says. “Together… so we have Leo, Orion, Corona Borealis. Bravery, hunter, crown. I… I feel like it’s a romantic picture. A hunter, someone who is wanting to find something or figure something out so badly, is inflected with bravery. He battles, and he hunts, and he seeks until he gets his crown. He finds true love.”

“Oh.” Albus says.

“Yeah,” Scorpius smiles. “Oh. It’s very overwhelming.”

Albus looks between the stars. They seem to wink at him, encouraging him. He looks to Scorpius and his heart inflates. He’s helpless.

“I would love if this was my future,” Scorpius continues. “I mean… we were in the city of love last week, and now the stars are telling us that something powerfully brave and romantic is about to happen. It’s an incredible fortune.”

“If only we could all be so lucky,” Albus says. “To have something as promising as this in our future.”

“Well,” Scorpius says, gently patting Albus’ cheek. “It belongs to one of us.”

Albus manages to smile. “Guess we’ll find out who soon enough.”

⚡

Albus can’t sleep. The minute they arrived back from _Monte Benacantil_, the clock ticking nearer to midnight, Scorpius collapsed onto the bed and left the world for slumber immediately. Albus, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. He lay and tossed and turned but stopped after a while out of fear he would wake Scorpius. He watched him sleep for a while, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the soft puffs of breath that slip between his slightly parted lips, then chose to walk his worry off by heading outside.

He’s leaning over the balcony, letting the cool, late night breeze whip through his hair and chill his legs. Albus hopes the air will clear his mind, but it doesn’t work too well. He distracts himself by trying to think about Seville; he sent an owl to James earlier in the day saying what time the two of them would meet him at the castle, but by thinking about that he’s reminded of how he wishes he could tell his brother everything, yet still doesn’t have the nerve.

Albus doesn’t want to admit to himself what he knows is true. Not yet, anyway.

He remembers coming across a poetry anthology in Astoria’s library one night when he was staying over at the Malfoy Manor. He mainly flicked aimlessly through the pages, but paused on one particular poem that had confused him for as long as he could remember. He can’t remember all the words, just one line that still sits in his mind, weighs down his heart, to this day.

_I am the love that dare not speak its name_.

For years Albus had queried the line in his mind. Surely, he thought, love would always speak. It would blind and thrive and beat and _speak_. How could people love if they didn’t voice it? Yet now, stood on a balcony in Alicante with sunburn painting his nose and tan blossoming over his skin, Albus thinks he finally understands. He knows what is true, he knows that is happening in his mind, and he can’t hide from it anymore.

Scorpius.

_Scorpius_ is the love that dare not speak its name. Albus doesn’t know for how long, but he knows now it’s been swirling in his soul for a while. During the Rose times? Fourth year? Nights in the Slytherin common room?

Albus’ tattoo burns on his ankle.

He doesn’t know what this means for his identity; whether he’s gay, or bi, or pan, or any of the others that he’d seen flags for during the London Pride Parade he’d gone to with Lily one year. But, as he remembers Sofia saying, that isn’t important right now.

Albus loves Scorpius.

Albus _loves_ Scorpius.

And… _fuck_, he thinks. He’s in love with his best friend. There’s no feasible way this will work out well.

⚡

**27th July**

_Mum and dad,_

_Sorry I haven’t written for a few days. It’s been very overwhelming getting from place to place. We’re in Alicante at the moment, but are heading to Seville this morning. James is meeting us there so we can spend some time together, especially after we had a night out together in Barcelona. It’s been so nice seeing him in a place he’s so happy. Trust me when I saw James belongs in Spain._

_Scorpius and I stargazed last night. Learning about ghosts today. Learned about Alchemy in France. It’s like an educational trip but I’m having more fun that I could imagine. I’ve never felt closer to Scorpius, never felt closer to James. And, in a weird way, never felt closer to you guys._

_I keep finding some really cool Muggle and Magic artefacts to bring back with me. Little model castles and ancient vials that people would keep potions in. Fans and fancy plates that have old prophecies and incantations inked on them. The world is an endlessly fascinating place, and I love learning about it._

_Hope you two and Lily are enjoying the sweets I keep sending. Write soon._

_Love. Always._

_Albus_

⚡

They find a Floo network to Seville and saunter into the _Real Alcazar de Sevilla_ gardens to meet James after Albus sends the letter back home. The weather is cooler today, with clouds hanging in the sky to block the sun, and Albus is beyond grateful for the change in temperature. He’s cuffed the mid-length sleeves of his Hawaiian shirt – Scorpius’ choice – to just above his elbows, tucking it into his jeans so the material doesn’t keep floating about in the breeze.

Scorpius seems to have taken it down a couple of notches this morning. He’s in dark denim shorts, a slightly too-baggy _Weird Witches_ t-shirt untucked but tied into a knot in the front. Albus can’t pinpoint what the style reminds him of, but he’s obsessed with it nonetheless.

He’s obsessed with Scorpius. Regardless of clothes, he really is.

The gardens to the castle are split into little square shaped segments, the concrete pavements running in intersecting straight lines between them. Palm trees wave at them in the breeze, geometric bushes adding depth and detail to the square sections. Circular tufts of leaves stand in the middle, outlined by blue, pink and yellow flowers, the dots of colour breaking up the otherwise block green gardens. They are outlined, entrapped, by the castle walls. Neutral pillars climb to a few feet above them, arched glassless windows carved into the infrastructure to give them a glance into the property.

James is already in the queue with their tickets, waving them over with a bright smile on his face. He’s in a Barcelona Bicorns t-shirt, very on brand, his belt buckle in the shape of a snitch holding up his jeans that seem a little too small for him, but Albus just assumes are supposed to be short at the ankles.

“Hello, little ones.” James smiles, wrapping an arm around both of them to squeeze them in delight.

“We are only two years younger than you James.” Albus reminds him, voice muffled as he is smothered by James’ shirt.

James shrugs. “You’re still little ones,” he says, keeping one arm around Albus’ shoulders as they settle into the queue. “How was Alicante?”

“Incredible,” Scorpius says. “Or _increible,_ as the Spanish would say.”

“He’s trying to learn Spanish. Thinks he can become fluent in all the languages of the countries we visit.” Albus explains when James gives Scorpius a funny look.

“I never said that,” Scorpius corrects. “I have already accepted that I will never be able to learn Greek.”

James snickers as they filter through the entryway, having their tickets stamped by less than pleased looking workers at the gates. “_Increible_, indeed. Did you get up to much? I know it was sort of late when you left us at the boat.”

Albus shrugs. “It wasn’t too late. We got all we wanted to do done.”

“We saw the castle. Learned a bunch about the history of the Seers who used to live and work there. Then we tried to read our fortunes in the stars,” Scorpius explains. “I think we did a pretty good job.”

“Sofia loves stargazing,” James smiles. “I told you I took her once, didn’t I? Except she didn’t let me talk in case I tried and read her future. She really doesn’t want me to use magic unnecessarily. I’ve tried to tell her I failed Divination and Astronomy at school, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“I like Sofia.” Scorpius laughs, hands stuffed in his pockets as they walk.

“So do I.” James beams.

_Sickening_, Albus thinks.

“So,” he changes the subject. “This place is haunted?”

Scorpius says “_supposedly_” at the same time James says “_definitely_”.

“There have been sightings of ghosts by Muggles, supposedly,” Scorpius explains. “But I couldn’t find any scholarly material confirming or denying it. Whether that’s because nobody has tried to find out who lives here or if they’re just really hard to find… I spent ages going through books.”

“Of course you did.” Albus murmurs, smiling in Scorpius’ general direction.

The architecture of the Castle is mesmerising. Albus keeps dropping in and out of the conversation Scorpius and James are having about ghosts as he looks at the sleek and perfect edges on the walls and how everything is so linear and geometric. Every single bush is trimmed to perfection, perfect cubes and cuboids lining the paths, and not a single leaf is loose on the ground. They walk past fountains placed perfectly in the middle of the paths, water a sweet turquoise colour. The gentle breeze summons ripples that race along the surface of the water, crashing into the boundary at the opposite.

The archways are outlined by scalloped detailing, repeated diamond shaped patterns embossed into the brickwork that forms balconies and walls and roofs. The pillars, always situated in pairs, are a grey-brown colour, perhaps from age, and support the exquisite structure as it towers above them. The walls are engraved with intricate patterns, curves and spirals and dots carved in and covered in pigment that has faded over time. Albus can’t help but trace the designs as they walk, occasionally pausing to really take in a piece of the art before scuttling away to catch up to his brother and his best friend.

“So which ghosts are meant to live here?” Albus asks.

“Ghosts don’t live, Al,” James says. “They haunt. They’re stuck. They are either afraid of death or are too emotionally connected to a place to let themselves go.”

“Oh, right,” Albus says. “Any Muggle ghosts?”

“Albus, honestly,” Scorpius says. “It’s like you didn’t attend Hogwarts. We were taught this in History of Magic.”

Albus rolls his eyes. “You know the only lesson I paid attention in was Potions.”

“Muggles can’t become ghosts,” Scorpius explains. “So anyone we see will be a dead witch or wizard.”

“There’s rumour that Maria de Padilla haunts here.” James adds.

Albus stares blankly at him.

“Mistress of King Peter of Castile. I forget you don’t know Spanish history,” James chuckles. “Peter was… not a good person. But Maria was a noblewoman who met him and struck up a relationship with him, even though he married other people while they were together. Nobody really knows how she died, but she had four children with him, and obviously has very strong connections to this place. The lower level of the _Patio de las Doncellas _was built for King Peter, so she is said to lurk here.”

James points out the patio as they cross under an access-gate; Albus looks at the reflective pools and sunken gardens, gently brushing his fingers over some leaves as they step into the shadows and look around.

“So Maria… was a witch?”

“Supposedly.” Scorpius says.

“Is supposedly your word of the day?” James teases.

Scorpius playfully jabs James, then turns back to Albus. “The rumour that she haunts would confirm she was a witch, but as I said: no scholarly material.”

“But I’m a firm believer that people’s experiences are more important than books when it comes to ghosts,” James adds. “So, in my opinion, Maria was a witch who haunts here and walks the patio in remembrance of her children, her romance, and her life that was spent loving an absolutely horrendous man.”

“That’s…” Albus says. “Quite sad.”

“Which is why she’s apparently still here,” Scorpius murmurs. He’s stood next to Albus now, head resting on his shoulder as they both look at the fountain. “She’s too emotionally connected to this place, has so many regrets and thoughts and powerful emotions, that she couldn’t cross over.”

The three of them sit on the edge of the walkway, letting their legs dangle over the edge of the sunken garden. They float above it all, like a ghost would float above the world, and Albus can feel the presence of something skirting over his skin.

“Kind of makes me feel sad for the Hogwarts ghosts,” Albus murmurs. He watches a butterfly that dances over petals and the leaves, settling on the stalk of one flower before traipsing back into the air again. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful place to be, and all, but not being able to cross over… it sounds so lonely.”

“It is.”

Albus jumps as a voice he doesn’t recognise sounds from next to him. The airiness of the voice, echoing slightly as if the person was a whole canyon away from him, sends shivers down his spine. As he turns to his side a watery, shimmering figure sits next to him. Except, _no_, he thinks. Not watery. Transparent, perhaps? Like the air is shifting and creasing.

“Oh_ Merlin_.” Scorpius whispers from his side.

The wonder in his voice confirms Albus’ suspicions: this person is a ghost.

“Are you…?” Albus starts, but doesn’t finish his question.

“Maria de Padilla,” the woman, _ghost_, says. Her colourless hair is pulled into an elegant bun, some strands loose and curling down her temples and tickling her cheeks. Albus thinks that the clip that holds the bun in place must be a royal artefact; he almost wishes he could see the jewels glimmering as they would have done when she was alive. “I don’t often come out to say hello to people. They tend to get scared when they see me. But… I was listening to your conversation and it seems like you were expecting me.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” Albus smiles. How does one talk to a ghost? He has no idea. He can barely manage a conversation with another human being, let alone some _not_ human being. “What was it you said? It is lonely?”

Maria nods. “Very lonely. My entire family have moved on and live in a different plane that I can’t access.”

“Why did you become a ghost, then? Instead of moving on?” James asks.

Maria leans forwards, kicking her feet idly as she looks at James. “I could not leave my children. I did not want to leave them here by themselves. I thought… by staying around I could make sure nobody hurt them and keep a watchful eye on them. Now I realise, though, that was a mistake. I could have been there to greet them when they died, reunite and lead them to this new life, instead. But no… I’m now still here. Drifting. Watching people come and ruin my home and pick my flowers.”

Albus frowns. “Can you not decide to move on now?”

Maria sadly shakes her head. “_Desafortunadamente, no._”

Albus fidgets with the buttons on his shirt, looking between Scorpius to Maria to James and back again.

“Why don’t you show yourself to wizards?” Scorpius asks. “If you don’t mind me asking. It’s just… I’ve read a lot about this place and how it’s apparently haunted, but I could never find any documentation about anything, about you, living here.”

“Muggles tend to get scared of me and, well… wizards and witches,” Maria sighs. “They don’t tend to like me. Because of the man I loved. And the fact that I, a witch, lived alongside him for so long without doing anything. Let him do what he did, have children with him. They don’t come to me out of peace or interest, they come for negativity. And when you’re dead, life is already miserable enough.”

Albus feels overwhelmingly sad around Maria. Her eyes are lifeless yet he can still see sadness shimmering over her ghostly form. It’s painful.

“Do you regret not doing anything?” James asks.

Maria shrugs. Her hair bounces slightly as she moves, the little strands sticking in between her eyelashes and catching in her jewellery. “I have many feelings about my life. Disappointment, joy, regret, anguish. I cannot separate them, though. In my mind. Not anymore.”

The four of them pause as a bird flutters overhead. It settles on the branch of one of the trees, tail flicking up to the sky and call bouncing around the open space. They stare at the bird, its glorious wings and twitching eyes, watching as it leaps from the branch and returns to the sky, where it belongs.

“Why did nobody know you were a witch?” Scorpius asks.

Maria laughs. It’s an empty laugh, a sad one. “Because they would have killed me if they knew,” she says. “There were people who did not like me very much, for some reason. They thought I influenced Peter in a bad way. If they found out I was a witch… they’d have all the circumstantial evidence they’d need to have me executed.”

“I…” Albus says. “I’m so sorry that was your life,”

Maria looks at him. Or through him. He can’t really tell. “What in the world do you mean?”

“You weren’t able to be yourself, live your true life. Pretending you weren’t a witch, dealing with this place,” Albus vaguely gestures to the castle around them. “It sounds awfully limiting. Like living in a cage. And now… now you can’t leave, ever.”

Maria gently touches his shoulder. He fills with coldness, like someone is tipping ice cold water through his veins, but it is strangely comforting at the same time. “Don’t pity the dead, dear,” she says. “Don’t pity me. I may not have been fulfilled, but I _lived_. And I got to watch my children live, and my friends. And those memories, the thoughts of my sweet children running around out here, playing in the fountains… those memories keep me going. Save your pity for someone who is living and doesn’t have the same privileges I do. The privileges of having lived a life with love.”

Albus smiles at her, and she vanishes afterwards. The coolness leaves his body and the sickly feeling of someone watching him disappears too. He feels the three of them let out a collective sigh, as if they had been holding their breath for the entire conversation.

“Well,” Scorpius says after a few moments. “Guess we know for certain this place is haunted.”

⚡

After wandering the grounds for a little while longer the three of them head out to café across the road, away from the crowds of tourists all dying to view the castle and take a plethora of photos. They find a sweet circular table in the back garden of the café, Scorpius offering to order their food after he’s popped to the restroom.

So it’s just the two of them: the two Potter brothers. James sits opposite him, eyes glued to Albus even though his brother refuses to look back. Albus stares into his lap, legs crossed uncomfortably on the chair as he thinks.

Thinks about how to try and tell James they _hey_, _I’m sort of in love with my best friend!_ Which, by extension, also leads to _hey, I’m sort of gay! I think?_

“You’re as good at hiding your feeling as dad is,” James says. He picks up a sugar cube from the basket in between them and tosses it at Albus to get him to look up. “And I’ve had the honour of spending eighteen years around you, so I know there’s something going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” Albus lies. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, when you’re worried or overthinking or stressing you fiddle with your shirt, like you are with the buttons right now, and you bite on your lip until it bleeds. Which is also happening, so maybe clean that up before Mr Malfoy returns and gets mad at you for hurting yourself.” James smiles.

James leans over the table with a napkin in his hand, pressing it firmly to the cut Albus has left on his bottom lip by biting too aggressively on the skin. “I don’t want to pressure you at all. That’s not the sort of friendship we have, and it never will be. Anything you tell me I want you to feel happy doing so, not forced,” he says. “But we’re both basically adults now, and I’d like to think we’ve moved past the keeping secrets for no reason which, yes, is hypocritical coming from me because of the Sofia thing.”

“Very hypocritical.” Albus murmurs, voice muffled by the napkin.

“Hush,” James says. “My point is: I know you’re worrying about something, and I would love it if you told me so I could help, or so you could just get it off your chest, but I’m not going to make you.”

Albus sighs. He looks at his brother, his _big_ brother who he has loved for years and wanted to be like since the day he was born, and he can’t stand this tension that’s between them. This blockade built from the bricks of Albus’ insecurities.

“Scorpius.” Albus says. Simple and to the point. The word, the name, encompasses everything Albus needs to vocalise.

James nods. It’s slow and thoughtful and Albus can see in James’ face a flash of understanding. And… is that relief? As if James has been waiting to hear Albus say _Scorpius_ in that way for a while.

“I figured as much,” James smiles. “So… what does that mean? For you?”

“I think… it means that I’m gay, James,” Albus says. The words come easy to him, much easier than he expected them to. He’d prepared a speech in his mind after assuming he would clam up and would need something memorised in order to get all the information out. But it’s surprisingly easy to live his truth now he’s worked it out in his head. “It makes sense. When I think back on everything that’s happened to me. The whole, like, Delphi thing… it was me clinging on to scraps of attention thinking it would make me feel some kind of way. Let’s just ignore the whole Dark Magic thing, by the way.”

James chuckles a little. “Yeah. A temporary blip, you know.”

“Exactly,” Albus grins. “But it, uh. Yeah. I think Scorpius was the turning point. And that it’s been there all along, but he ignited the fire. Or something cheesy like that. I feel like fourth year was the moment I was like, _wow_.”

“Then Rose happened…”

Albus nods.

“And that explains why you were so miserable during that time. Not because it was just normal jealousy or feeling like a third-wheel, but because of _him_.” James says.

And James gets it. So well. Albus thinks that perhaps his secret hadn’t been so subtle all along and that everyone around him had seen right through the façade, except Scorpius, that is.

“Right you are,” Albus smiles, gently picking apart the sugar cube James had thrown at him. “You know. I had been so worried to tell you this because… I don’t know, I thought that it would be this huge big deal that would change everything and would take us back to the beginning of our friendship. And that we’d have to build up the trust and the love again. I was _terrified_ that I would be like some new, unknown person. But it’s not like that, at all. Everything feels clearer now. Brighter.”

“This doesn’t change anything, Al,” James says. “Except the fact that you’re now _happy_. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like having to work this out in your mind, but I can imagine that accepting it yourself is the most difficult part. And admitting it out loud… it’s a brave thing to do.”

Albus smiles. “I love you.”

The setting sun paints James golden. “I love you,” he says. “So… are you going to tell him?”

Albus looks through the open doors to the café, watching as Scorpius fumbles with Muggle money to pay for their food. “Probably. Only the first part, though. Not the whole _I’m-terribly-in-love-with-you-even-though-we’re-meant-to-be-best-friends_ part. Think that might make things a bit awkward.”

James snickers. “That’s very possible.”

Albus sighs. He’s happy, at last. Of course there’s still the underpinning tension in his stomach when he looks at Scorpius and feels nothing more than a desire to _love_ and _touch_ him, but that’s a problem he can tackle one day at a time. That’s a branch on the flower of his life. He’s the roots, and he’s finally nourished them with honesty and respect. So he feels whole; he feels like he can grow.

Albus watches as Scorpius comes to their table with a tray full of snacks and cakes and cans of fizzy pop, distributing them out when he plops down next to Albus.

“So,” Scorpius smiles. “What did I miss?”

⚡

**28th July**

Barcelona.

Albus breathes in the air of Barcelona as the four of them sit on top of the houseboat splitting a bowl of tapas over glasses of Red Rum and cranberry juice. Seville had been a confusing, yet endearing, dream. The wide open roads and the jade trees waving as they walked from place to place. Bumping into James’ shoulder on his one side and then tucking his finger through Scorpius’ belt loop on the other.

The ghosts. The architecture. The chill in the air.

When he thinks of Seville he is filled with promise. The memories of yesterday feel safe in his mind; they are a legacy of the first time he told someone the truth about himself in years. Admitting his identity to himself and to James… it had been refreshing. Albus hopes that in the future when he thinks back to their day in Seville he’ll drown in the wanderlust of the buildings and the palace and the fountains but will be rescued and dried off once he remembers that Seville, that little part of southern Spain, had been where he finally felt alive.

“I don’t want you two to go,” Sofia says, one hand each on Scorpius and Albus’ knees. “It’s been so wonderful getting to know you both.”

“I know,” Albus frowns. “But at least we’ll have an excuse to come and see you every month. I’ll have Sofia withdrawals if I don’t get to hug you at least once every thirty days.”

Sofia leans over to gently ruffle Albus’ hair, breath laced with rum. “You’re an angel.”

“Or, you know,” Scorpius says. “James could tell his parents he’s in a very committed relationship and could bring Sofia to England to finally meet them. Then Al and I wouldn’t have to keep sneaking to Spain to see her.”

Sofia laughs. “That’s common sense, isn’t it? Unfortunately _mi amor_ doesn’t have common sense.”

“Rude,” James smiles, flicking a bit of cranberry juice onto Sofia’s cheek. “Listen, we all have secrets. It’s part of the fun keeping something to a small group of people. Besides, if I do _that_ then, like Albus says, you wouldn’t have an excuse to come out and see us.”

“My excuse then would be I want to come and see my dear brother in his new home.” Albus says.

“We’re already planning coming back in a few months, I hope you realise,” Scorpius shrugs. “We didn’t get chance to see you playing Quidditch, James. We’re determined to see you play.”

“Oh!” Sofia lights up. “You should definitely come soon. The Bicorns play the Madrid Manticores in a couple of months. It’s a huge rivalry, amazing game.”

Albus smiles. “So, let me get this straight. You really don’t like James doing magic except when it’s Quidditch or a Hangover Draught?”

Sofia winks at him. “You got that right, sunshine.”

The four of them laugh. The sun is soothing on his skin and the air thick with a dewy humidity, but a gentle seaside breeze occasionally sweeps over their faces and washes away any trace of discomfort. Albus looks between the three of them – a moon, a star, and his sun – and he really doesn’t want to leave.

“Let me know when you get back home,” James says. “Maybe by that time I’ll decide it’s time to tell mum and dad.”

Albus nods. He eats a bit of the tapas, sipping lightly on a glass of Red rum. When he looks at Scorpius, leaning back on his elbows and staring at the clouds, he could burst. Scorpius is radiant. He is _everything_.

And while Albus is beyond thrilled to move out of Spain and head to their next country, he can’t help but shudder with nervousness at the prospect of it being just him and Scorpius again. Here, in Barcelona, he has James and Sofia to talk to when things get overwhelming and when he needs a break from the endless thoughts about Scorpius that rush through his mind. But when they leave? It’s just him, Scorpius and the big, wide world.

Mildly terrifying, albeit a little exciting, too.

⚡

“So you’ll let us know when you get to Geneva, right?” Sofia asks. She brushes her hands over the sleeves of Albus and Scorpius’ jackets, dusting them off and smoothing them down as they stand on the platform for their train. Albus is sort of dreading a seven hour train journey to Switzerland, but Scorpius had insisted they utilise Muggle transport at some point and this route seemed to be the best time to do so.

“We will.” Scorpius promises. Between his delicate fingertips he holds their train tickets, rucksack slung over one of his shoulders.

“Good.” Sofia nods, stepping back so Albus and James can properly say goodbye.

Albus smiles at his brother and wraps his arms around his waist. They stand like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other as the hustle and bustle of the platform buzzes around them. It’s like Platform 9 and ¾ without the cloaks, Albus thinks.

“I’ll miss you,” James murmurs into Albus’ air, gently rubbing his back. “It’s been… it’s been wonderful having you here.”

“Well, thank you for having us.” Albus shrugs. _Don’t get sensitive_, he thinks.

James releases Albus and holds him by his cheeks instead, brushing his thumbs over his jaw and tapping his fingertips over the sun-formed freckles under his eyes. “I hate to sound like mum,” he says. “But when did you get so big? And wonderful?”

“I’ve always been wonderful, thank you very much,” Albus chuckles. “Though, I did grow a couple of inches in the last year or so.”

James nearly shatters Albus’ ribs as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so proud of you, little brother.”

“I love you so much, James.” Albus murmurs, smiling up at his brother as they finally let each other go.

“I love you so much more, Al.” James smiles.

Albus shoulders his rucksack once more, taking his ticket from Scorpius once they are reunited. Albus nods to Sofia and James before they board the train, following behind Scorpius as they find their seats. They booked table seats for the long trip, setting out bottles of water and snacks they’d pre-purchased to get them through the journey.

Scorpius is supposed to sit opposite Albus, but slips in next to him once he’s sat down. Albus looks out the window, waving at his brother and Sofia as the train engine starts and they slowly pull out the station. Before Albus has a chance to blink the two of them disappear into a cloud of smoke, and the scenery of Barcelona begins to fade from brick buildings and long pavements to blurred hills as they shoot through the country-side.

Next to him Scorpius reads a book, _Spectacular Switzerland and the Union of Muggle Science and Magic_. His bookmark, a picture of him, Astoria and Draco from Christmas years ago, rests on the table, his eyes flitting over the pages.

“Mind if I use you as a pillow?” Albus asks.

Scorpius glances to his side and smiles, shuffling about so they’re at the same height. “Feel free,” he says. “I’m yours to use however you want.”

Albus smiles. “You’re the best.” He says, leaning to his side to rest his head on Scorpius’ shoulder. He tries to read a few of the words in the book but the jargon all goes straight over his head. Instead, he focuses on Scorpius’ breathing and the gentle way he sometimes reads aloud, quietly to himself.

Albus fiddles with the cuff of Scorpius’ jacket sleeves, settling into his best friend’s side as the train gathers speed. There’s still a level of nervousness deep within him surrounding the fate of the rest of their journey; what the future holds for his miniscule crush (not really miniscule, but Albus can pretend) and how that will change the way the next few weeks go.

Albus can’t really believe they’re already two weeks through their magnificent trip, already shuttling through the curves of Spain to get to Switzerland. Time is flying, he thinks. But he has Scorpius, _his_ Scorpius by his side, so of course it would go fast. Because time flies when you’re having fun, and every day is a daydream when he has a Malfoy to waste it with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the length between parts - this chapter got a bit long, but it's full of potter sibling love. again, any language errors are my own fault, and descriptions are based on extensive research i've done. much love <3
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


	4. switzerland

**28th July**

Albus can’t take his eyes off the landscape the train passes as they approach Geneva. He’d slept on Scorpius’ shoulder for the majority of the journey, arms wrapped around the bend of Scorpius’ elbow and head nestled into a soft spot of his jumper. Everytime the train rattled and shuddered Albus awake for a moment or two he noticed that Scorpius had read a larger chunk of his book, fingertips tracing each line as he eagerly ingested all the information.

The noontime sun warmed Albus’ cheeks and made it very easy for him to snooze happily for the whole seven hour train journey, only perking up when the food trolley came shuttling past. He’ll admit to still not being entirely keen on food trolleys, but he was starving, so there was no way he wasn’t going to snatch a pack of Muggle sweets.

The run in to Geneva, though, demanded his full attention. Acres of wild grass, colourful flowers dotted among the bushes and the strands, are sandwiched between elegant lakes that shimmer like diamonds under the scattered rays of sun. In the distance, reaching eagerly into the blue sky, mountains are topped with a dusting of light snow. They carve the horizon into jagged triangular sections, like fangs of a vampire stretching into the air above. Clouds wrap around the tips of the mountains, shadows falling onto the rocky surfaces that elicit fear from Albus just from how intimidating they look. Birds tumble through the sky and land into the lakes and ponds and little brooks that wind into the landscape. The water shivers from a light breeze, feathers on ducks ruffle, yet the sun still shines.

Albus is obsessed.

Their train pulls into _Geneve Cornavin_ at just after five in the afternoon, the sun beginning to lower in the sky and the temperature slipping a few degrees. Albus pulls his jacket sleeves over his hands as they hobble off the train, keeping a hold on to Scorpius as they navigate the platform to try and find their way out. Their train had been full of businesspeople and other tourists; everyone in their carriage had their head in a book with a tie around their neck or a map in their hands with a pair of sunglasses nestled in their hair. Scorpius mentions being more inclined to follow the tourists than the businesspeople, and so they find themselves stepping out in the sunlit streets of Geneva with their bags heavy on their backs and eyes gazing at the street signs to try and work out where to go.

“Geneva Hostel, right?” Albus asks, looking over the confirmation of booking he’d shoved in his backpack before they left England. As part of their huge ambition to interact with equal parts magic and Muggle communities they’d figured staying in a Muggle Hostel would be a fun way to experience Switzerland. Plus it had been cheap, so Albus wasn’t really complaining.

Scorpius nods. “That way, I think.” He says, pointing to a street that curves away to their left.

Their hands bump against each other as they walk along _Rue de Lausanne_, and Scorpius can barely hide the thrill in his face as he realises he can use his French knowledge once again. Albus thinks that Geneva reminds him a lot of France, in the ways the buildings are all close together and there is a sweet smell that lingers in the air. His breathing feels clear and the sun seems to touch his cheeks with no interference; everything seems _fresh_.

Scorpius gently grabs Albus’ hand after they walk for a while to stop him from walking straight on, instead turning them right down _Rue Rothschild_. His hold lingers for a couple of seconds, perhaps Scorpius was just checking that Albus’ heart was still beating, or something, until he lets go and they resume the rest of their short walk side by side.

The two of them pass tall, elegant hotels decorated on the outside with five star reviews. Their breakfast menus flutter in the late afternoon breeze, lights flickering from inside the restaurants and the rooms occupied by tourists. Geneva Hostel is towards the end of the road, a light blue building tucked away behind some sparse trees.

The foyer is busy with people lounging on the reception area chairs or heading into the kitchen for their evening meal, some of them even slipping through a door at the opposite side of the building to descend down some stairs. Scorpius leads them to the main desk, and they stand for a couple of minutes until a blue-haired girl waves them over.

“Anglais ou Français?” She, _Genevieve_, her badge says, asks.

“English.” Scorpius says, taking the confirmation from Albus and handing it over to Genevieve.

She nods, typing away on one of those Muggle board things Albus remembers the English hotel having. “Three nights, two beds?”

Albus nods. “Yes. Three nights.”

Genevieve smiles, reaching under the desk to pull out two small rectangular pieces of plastic. “Your room is 119. First floor, room nineteen. You are bunks 5 and 6, and there are four people already in there. Your key will give you access to the room, your locker and the communal bathroom. Breakfast is from six until nine, dinner five until eight. Any questions please feel free to ask.”

Albus and Scorpius nod along to what she is saying, Albus fiddling with the piece of plastic as they head towards the door that has _ascenseur _written above it. Scorpius presses the button with an upwards arrow on it, the two of them stepping in and standing shoulder to shoulder as they begin to rise to the first floor. Logically they could have walked up the stairs, but Albus can tell from the way Scorpius keeps blinking that he’s utterly exhausted, so lift and sleep seems to be their plan for the evening.

“Which room did she say again?” Scorpius asks, looking at the numbers on the wall as they walk around the winding corridor.

“119,” Albus repeats, stopping them in front of their door. “This one.”

They trial and error for a while trying to get their key to open the door – Albus _really_ doesn’t understand why Muggles can’t just use good old metal keys – and are greeted with four confused, yet smiling, faces when it finally swings open.

Three of them are sat on the floor sifting through their bags, bottles of what Albus thinks is vodka stood in between them. The other one, a sun-kissed boy with strawberry blond hair, is lying on a bottom bunk, tossing a ball onto the wooden planks that support the bed on top. They all catch Scorpius and Albus’ gaze immediately, hands halting from sorting through their clothes and sipping on their clear drinks, instead taking the time to observe the newcomers.

Albus instinctively winds his little finger through Scorpius’ belt loop, with _much_ difficulty since he’s decided to don a thick snakeskin belt today, anxiously glancing around the room to avoid making eye contact with any of the four others in the room.

“Um,” Scorpius eloquently says. “Hi.”

One of the boys on the floor stands up with a shake of his head, loose, black curls moving from in front of his face as he holds out a hand to Scorpius. “Hey,” he smiles. “I’m Otto, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Scorpius. Nice to meet you too,” Scorpius says, subtly side-stepping to force Albus to greet Otto, too. “This is, uh.”

“Albus.” He says. He tries to be nonchalant as he shakes Otto’s hand, but tries _way_ too hard and he knows the aggression with which he ends up clutching Otto’s palm is noticeable.

Otto doesn’t mention it, though. Instead he steps back and gestures widely to the other three in the room. “Those two on the floor are with me.” He says, pointing specifically to the girl and boy on the floor.

“Florence,” the girl smiles, mock saluting to Albus and Scorpius. Her gap-tooth smile is endearing, Albus thinks, as is the way she busies herself with tying her hair into two little plaits. “But I prefer Flo.”

Albus and Scorpius nod, both offering weak smiles as they set their bags down onto the bottom bunk of the remaining structure.

“Ben,” the other boy says. As he fiddles with a t-shirt in his bag and goes to fold it Albus can see a cluster of tattoos around his pelvis, dark tones blended in with words blended in with iconography he can’t work out. “And that one there is a lone traveller, but he’s been decent company thus far.”

Albus looks over to the boy on the bed, who is already looking back. He grips the edge of the top bunk to swing himself off his mattress, hand then parting strands of his hair from his face as he steps up to Albus and Scorpius. “Wyatt,” he smiles. “Everyone loves a lone traveller. It’s nice to meet you Scorpius and… Albus, was it?”

“Uh,” Albus flusters. “Yeah, Albus. Nice to meet you.”

Albus shakes Wyatt’s hand, paying too much attention to the amount of time he then spends touching Scorpius’ palm. Which is a solid three seconds less than he did with Albus.

“Have you lot been here long?” Scorpius asks, gently peeling Albus away from the situation and pushing him onto the bunk instead, delicately placing himself next to him.

Otto retakes his place on the floor, Wyatt choosing to linger at the ladder of his bunk. “We got here late last night, but didn’t have time to sort through our stuff. Spent all day out on the lake, and now we’re actually settling in.”

Albus nods along to the conversation, watching as the trio share their drinks and their clothes, switching shirts and glasses as they sift through the endless pile of laundry that appears to be on the floor. “What about you?” He asks, directing his question to Wyatt.

Wyatt smiles. He’s very regal-looking, yet has an air of mystery about him. Albus sort of doesn’t want to look yet can’t stop staring; a bit like when he was younger and wanted to badly to stare at the sun but knew he shouldn’t. He still thinks he was enamoured with the brightness. “A couple of days. Here for a couple more. Trying to do that whole finding myself thing, you know?” His accent is a rich American one. Albus doesn’t know the specifics of American dialects, but he thinks he would place Wyatt somewhere from the West.

“How about you two?” Flo asks, voice almost tacky from the layer of alcohol that appears to be stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Albus looks from the bottle to her; he can’t imagine anything worse than drinking straight from the bottle. At the same time, though, he can’t imagine anything worse than _drinking_. The thought of alcohol still makes him a little sick to his stomach after the last couple of days.

“We’re here for a couple of days. We graduated school a few months ago, figured we should take a little time off before getting jobs.” Scorpius shrugs. His fingers fiddle with the key card, eyes occasionally flicking to Albus.

“Graduated? What, college?” Otto asks.

Albus and Scorpius look at each other. College. Not a term either of them are familiar with. Albus forgets that education in the Muggle world is dramatically different to the education they have undertaken, and he bitterly regrets not having done research on this sort of topic beforehand.

“College?” Wyatt interrupts. “There’s no way. If they were college graduates they’d be empty behind their eyes. I’m guessing high school.”

“Um,” Albus says. “Yeah, not college.”

“_Anyway_,” Scorpius drags out the final syllable, fingers drumming over Albus’ knee cap. Suddenly he has all of Albus’ attention again. “We should settle, don’t you think?”

Albus stares. There’s something… off about his gaze. Something in his eyes that seems more eager and isolated than before. “Sure,” Albus smiles, though he’s secretly slightly worried. “What bunk do you want?”

Scorpius softens slightly, though he still keeps his touch on Albus’ knee. “I’ll take the top. I know you’re not too keen on heights,” he says. Albus watches as Scorpius stands up and tosses his bag onto the top bunk, hands sliding into his jean pockets when he looks back to Albus. “You fancy going down for dinner?”

“I’m not too hungry. We could just go for a fancy breakfast in the morning? You look really tired,” Albus murmurs, gently poking Scorpius’ shin with his shoe. “You alright? You look a little… off.”

Scorpius smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says. Albus knows it’s a lie. “Think I’m gonna go take a shower, wash the travel muck off me. Will you be okay?”

Albus chuckles, leaning up to gently poke Scorpius’ side. “I’m not a child, Scorp. I’ll be fine. See you in a bit.”

Scorpius nods. He seems reluctant to leave, looking from Albus to the ceiling to the top bunk and back again. After a few minutes he finally pulls out his toiletries bag from his rucksack and slips out the door; Albus feels the room immediately dim as Scorpius leaves, and suddenly feels much more alone than he would have expected.

“Sweet Albus,” Flo says, patting a space on the floor next to her. “Come sit. You look absolutely petrified. Let’s chat.”

Albus brushes his palms over his duvet, running through some of the breathing exercises he’d been taught to deal with bouts of nervousness, before collecting himself and shuffling over the floor to seat himself next to Flo. She offers him the bottle of vodka which he ardently refuses, busying his hands instead by pulling his knees to his chest and fiddling with loose threads from the holes in his jeans.

“You want a mixer, or something? We have plenty of fizzy drinks.” Ben speaks for the second time, sifting through a plastic bag at his side.

“Oh, no. Honestly, no. I’m… sort of trying to not do the whole alcohol thing anymore.” Albus explains.

Flo chuckles at him, handing over a glass of yellow liquid instead. “Orange juice,” she says, noting his hesitation. “Promise there’s no alcohol.”

Albus smiles. “Thanks.” He says, taking a desperately long sip from the drink.

“So,” Flo continues, gently running her plaits over her palms. “Your boyfriend is really cute.”

Albus splutters on his juice, swiping a hand over his chin to wipe away any that spilt over him. “My what?”

Flo tilts her head to the side, watching as Otto tosses a pack of tissues to Albus. “Your… Scorpius. Is he? Is he not your boyfriend? I… oh, God. I’m sorry,” she says, cheeks tinting a sweet peach colour. “I honestly thought… the way that he was touching your knee. And how he kept looking at you.”

“Maybe zip it, Flo?” Otto snickers.

Albus looks between the two of them. _Looking at you_, his heart repeats, but his mind refuses to think about that statement for the time being. “He’s uh, no. Not my boyfriend,” he says, and it hurts a little more than he would have expected to admit that out loud. _Pathetic_, he thinks. Utterly pathetic. “Just my best friend.”

“Right, of course. I’m so sorry,” Flo says, mixing some of the vodka and a dark caramel coloured drink in a cup. She drinks from it before continuing. “I really am. There were just… vibes.”

“Vibes?” Albus asks.

“You’re digging yourself into a hole again, Florence.” Ben says, scrunching up a napkin to throw at her.

“I am _not_.” Flo says.

Otto chuckles. “She does this a lot,” he says. “Thinks she can read people. Ends up offending them.”

“Like the not pregnant woman in Germany.” Ben says,

Otto nods. “And the two friends who were _not_ dating in Belgium.”

“Or the–”

“Okay, he gets it,” Flo whines. “You guys can shut up now.”

The three of them laugh and Albus can’t help but smile. He looks up by chance and catches Wyatt’s eye, who has resumed his position on his bed, who looks back with a smile. There’s something that tingles in Albus’ stomach, like something is being awakened somewhere deep in him. He shakes his head and looks to the door, hoping and praying that Scorpius comes back soon.

⚡

They’re sat on Albus’ bunk late in the evening. Late, late evening. Scorpius has the arms of his jumper pulled over his hands as he carefully flicks through a tourist guide, and Albus very much wants to give Scorpius one of his own, larger jumpers that would fall below his hands without even trying.

“I think we save the tour of CERN until the day after tomorrow,” Scorpius whispers as to not wake up the others in the room. Albus knows there is no chance the other four are asleep, but he’s too busy swooning at Scorpius’ sweetness to mention it. “So that we have a full day of rest, and have some time to actually take in Geneva first.”

“Do we have to go to that…” Albus lowers his voice and leans extra close to Scorpius. “_Muggle_ science place?”

Scorpius looks rather offended. “Yes, we do. It’s fascinating.”

“You’re not going to understand what’s going on, Scorp,” Albus says. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, we didn’t really study extensive science at Hogwarts, and I highly doubt that there’s going to be any potion-making going on in the background.”

Scorpius leans over their dim flashlight to flick Albus’ nose. “Shut up,” he murmurs. He lingers in front of Albus’ face. He would definitely kiss him if he were drunk, Albus thinks, and he’s immensely proud of himself for resisting Flo’s offer earlier in the evening. “I’ve read about it. I read that whole book on the train. It’s fascinating. Besides, I and other wizards think that perhaps blurring the bridge between Muggle science and wizarding magic could help advance our knowledge.”

“And you think that,” Albus turns to the side to read from the tourist book. “The Large Hadron Collider, the world’s largest and most powerful particle accelerator, is going to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius murmurs. “But I’ll know even less if we don’t go.”

“We will look like idiots.” Albus says.

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “We always look like idiots.”

Albus pauses. The shadows on Scorpius’ face, cast by the odd angle of the torch, make him look older. They show his vulnerabilities, show what he’s been through. Albus knows there aren’t any physical scars that come as a result of the Cruciatus curse, but he is adamant that there is _something_ that lives in a person’s face after they’ve experienced it. And in this lowlight, eyelashes casting spindly spider-leg shadows on his cheeks, Albus thinks Scorpius has that _something_ right on his surface.

“Anyway,” Albus says. “What about tomorrow?”

Scorpius shrugs. “We explore Geneva. The lake, the streets. There’s a famous fountain somewhere. The wizarding community is really small here, most wizards and witches leave to France because of job opportunities. I’m not sure how we get there, but I could do some research if that’s something we’re interested in doing.”

Albus nods, picking up the tourist guide to flick through the pages. “Sounds good. A lazy day just walking around Switzerland with you is what I need at the moment.”

Scorpius lets out a breathy laugh. Albus can _feel_ his gaze and can’t bring himself to look up. He thinks back to what Flo mentioned earlier, about how Scorpius _kept looking at him_, and it makes his heart shudder a little. When he looks up, and meet his Scorpius’ gaze, he so badly wants to be able to love him. Wholly, infinitely, authentically. Everything. He wants to give everything to the sodding blonde-haired sunshine who is attached to his hip.

“I love you,” Albus says. “You know that, right?”

Scorpius smiles. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I love you, too.” Scorpius says.

Albus smiles this time. “I know.”

And he does. In the way Scorpius always touches his knee and guides him through places and saves a very specific smile for him. It may not be in the way Albus wishes, but Scorpius loves him. And being loved by Scorpius Malfoy is an earth-shatteringly pleasant experience.

He wishes everyone could spend a day being loved by Scorpius Malfoy. Albus thinks the world would be a much happier place if they were able to feel Scorpius’ love. It made his world a happier place, that’s for sure. But Albus is selfish; he wants to preserve every ounce of Scorpius’ love for himself alone, wants to be the sole receiver of the adoration that lifts him above the rest of the world and makes him feel like he could do anything he wanted. So screw the rest of the world, Albus thinks, watching as Scorpius folds up their books and maps. They can find strength and love of such intensity elsewhere.

Albus reaches over the space to hug Scorpius, drinking in the sweet smell of apple and vanilla that oozes off him. He wonders what would happen if he doesn’t let go.

So he doesn’t.

⚡

**29th July**

A crack of sunlight trickles through the gap between the curtains to wake Albus too early the next morning. He can hardly breathe, an arm slung over his face blocking his nose and suffocating him as he inhales little buds of cotton and lint. He is momentarily confused until he recognises Scorpius’ smell, sweet and citrus infusions floating in the air above them.

Albus is careful to gently move Scorpius’ arm off his face and position him somewhere a little comfier, gently dragging his fingertip up and down the seam of Scorpius’ jumper sleeves as he sits awake, in silence. It’s almost funny, his thinks, that for the first time in this entire trip they have separate beds yet they still end up right at each other’s side,

After a few minutes Albus carefully slips from under the covers, pulling on a pair of socks to save himself from the cool wooden floor. His watch tells him it’s just after six, and with everyone else in the room still asleep he decides against waking Scorpius. Instead, he picks up his wash bag and heads out to spend a little extra time getting ready. Everyone needs self-care from time to time, and an obscenely early morning shower in the bottom-left part of Switzerland feels like the perfect place.

The water is hot on Albus’ skin, steam clearing his foggy thoughts and peeling away the layers of exhaustion that simmer over his body. His Butterbeer scented body wash, a Christmas present from Teddy last year, fills the communal bathroom, and for a few moments Albus falls into a wizarding bliss. Surrounded by a smell that feels so much like _home_, stood in an endless spray of soothing water, he feels very content.

As he shuts the water off and dries in his cubicle he hears the door open. A tap runs from somewhere in the bathroom, someone sniffs, and Albus feels a little more self-conscious than he did a few minutes ago. The last face he expects to see when he heads out the cubicle is that of Wyatt, stood in front of a mirror with a toothbrush dangling between his fingertips and two streaks of toothpaste falling from the corners of his mouth. They make eye contact in the reflection of the mirror, and Albus smiles.

“Hey,” he says, ruffling a towel through his still damp hair to try and tame the frizz of tangled curls. “You’re up early.”

“You’re up even earlier,” Wyatt counters, eyes flickering as he smiles at Albus. “What soap did you use? It’s made this place smell lush.”

Albus smiles, but falters a little as he tries to think up a lie. “It’s, um,” he says. As he looks in the mirror he watches as Wyatt rolls up his sleeves, catching a glimpse of a tattoo on his lower arm. It looks like the outline of a bird, a spread eagle perhaps, adjoining and swirling patterns filling the outline. “It’s caramel.”

“Caramel?” Wyatt asks. His accent adds an endearing twinge to the word, rolling off his tongue in a glorious way.

“Caramel.”

Wyatt nods slowly. “Right,” he says. “What woke you up so early, then? The beds?”

Albus chuckles. “No,” he smiles, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe. Probably the arm over my face that nearly suffocated me.”

“Ah,” Wyatt says as he splashes some water over his face. “I did wonder if he left your bed last night. Last I heard before I dozed off you were bickering over something, but I never heard him leave.”

Albus smiles, offering Wyatt a coy shrug of his shoulders. “We’re used to sharing a bed,” he explains. “Boarding school.”

Wyatt nods again, even slower. He turns to look at Albus and his gaze feels far too inquisitive. Albus can almost see him making opinions in his mind, seeing the sentences and thoughts intricately weave together whenever he speaks. “Boarding school?”

“Seven years of it.”

“And you didn’t get your own beds in boarding school?” Wyatt asks.

Albus takes this opportunity to brush his teeth, hoping the pause between the question and his answer will ward off Wyatt’s curiosity. “Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to sleep next to.”

“I completely agree.” Wyatt smiles.

They sort themselves out in silence after that. Wyatt washes his face, ruffles up his sweet curls and sprays some rich-smelling cologne over his clothes. Albus tries not to watch, _really_, but there’s… something. It’s only when Wyatt turns to lean against the sink, arms crossed over his chest and gaze turning entirely to Albus, that he snaps away and stares at his hand towel instead.

“Albus.” Wyatt says.

Albus turns to look at him, barely. “Yeah?”

“You’re gay, right?”

Albus stares at him. Is it really _that_ obvious, he thinks? He self-consciously brushes his hands down his jumper and over his jeans to work out if there is something oozing out of his clothing choices that seems to spell out to people what’s going on in his mind. Perhaps he magically conjured a rainbow pin in the middle of the night and had stuck it on the body of his jumper; but, no. Nothing.

“What makes you think that?” Albus asks. He can feel the nervousness slipping into his voice.

Wyatt smiles. “I have a good eye for detecting people like me.” He says, fingers delicately cuffing the sleeves of his shirt.

“Oh,” Albus says. “Right.”

“Which also means,” Wyatt continues, stuffing his hand into his back pocket. Albus is fearful for a moment, unsure of what’s about to be pulled out, until Wyatt delicately withdraws a thin, slightly curved, wand. He twirls it between his fingers, idly flicking it at the towels and tubes of toothpaste they’ve scattered on the sink. They both watch as the mess cleans itself up, caps screwing back on and towels folding up, bone dry, next to their bags. “I also know you’re a wizard. I mean… caramel? Boarding school? Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“Right.” Albus repeats. He truly doesn’t know what to say. Congratulations? Albus didn’t suspect for a minute that they’d ever come across another wizard during their trip, and Wyatt struck him too much as a Muggle American for him to have even considered the possibility of him being magic.

“You’re not good with words, are you?” Wyatt smiles. He’s standing closer to Albus now, cinnamon cologne mixing with Albus’ intense Butterbeer shower gel to create a beautifully blended concoction in the air.

Albus fiddles with his fingers, looking to the floor to avoid the intimidating gaze of Wyatt. “Not particularly,” Albus says. “But I’m also very overwhelmed right now, so you’re not going to get much coherence out of me.”

Wyatt smiles. He has nice teeth, Albus thinks. “You’re cute,” he says. “And you’re also incredibly easy to read.”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyse me, or something?”

Wyatt delicately reaches between the space to pull a loose thread from Albus’ jumper. With the tip of his wand he tosses the thread into the air, both of them watching as it sinks, sinks, sinks to the ground. “I’m just trying to understand you, since you seem pretty interesting to me,” he says. “Gay, British wizard who shares a bed with his best friend, who is _not_ his boyfriend, even though he’s pretty obviously in love with him. It’s an interesting mix of characteristics.”

“You’re psychoanalysing me,” Albus asserts. “But you’re wrong, I’m not in love with my best friend.”

It’s a lie. Why is he lying about Scorpius? Albus doesn’t know. It just feels inherently dirty to be talking about Scorpius in this sort of way, to drag him in to a complicated conversation with a very intriguing _American-wizard-psychoanalytical-person_. He sort of hates himself for lying about Scorpius, but he won’t admit to a stranger what’s going on in his mind.

“Gay, British, pretty wizard who shares a bed with his best friend and is also a liar,” Wyatt smiles. _Pretty_, Albus thinks. That word definitely wasn’t in the original statement. “But on the off-chance that you aren’t a liar, then it’s great in my opinion that you aren’t in love with him.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. For some reason his confidence grows with every word he says, so combined with the fact he really doesn’t want this conversation to end, he’s glad to be in this bathroom so early in the morning. “Why is that a great thing?”

“Because it means that when I manage to convince everyone in our room to go out tonight, perhaps I’ll have a chance at getting you to dance with me.”

Before Albus has chance to answer the door to the bathroom swings open. He glances in the mirror just in time to see Scorpius enter, sleeves pulled over his hands and eyes groggy with sleep. Albus instinctively puts a few paces between himself and Wyatt, staring directly at Scorpius instead.

“Hey.” He says, smiling a little as Scorpius steps into the glaring LED light.

Scorpius smiles, squinting through the harsh brightness of the room. “Hey, you,” he says. “I thought you’d gone downstairs.”

Albus shakes his head. “Um, no. Just showering. And talking to…” He cocks his head to his side.

“Wyatt,” Scorpius says. “Morning.”

Wyatt smiles his wide and regal smile. “Good morning,” he says. “Well, it’s been a great talk Albus. So nice to run into you so early. I’ll see you two downstairs.”

Albus and Scorpius both toss little waves to Wyatt, Albus watching in the reflection of the mirror as he picks up his bag and heads out the bathroom.

“He gives me odd vibes.” Scorpius murmurs once Wyatt has left.

“Possibly because he’s a wizard.”

Scorpius snaps his head to the side as he listens to Albus. “Wait, seriously?”

Albus nods. “Yup. And he’s… yeah. Odd.”

Scorpius gently flicks some dust off Albus’ jumper, letting his finger linger for a few moments. “What were you talking about?”

Albus looks up at Scorpius. He should tell him. He _really_ should. There are now three people in the world who know he is gay, and none of them are Scorpius. None of them are the person who should have been the first to know. The one who he _wants_ to tell the most.

“About…” Albus starts. Then wimps out. “Just Switzerland. Something about going out tonight with the others in our room.”

Scorpius shrugs. “Sounds fun, but we can’t really do that.”

“Why?”

Scorpius stares at Albus. Albus doesn’t know why Scorpius always seems consistently surprised with his stupid questions, but he always twists his face into his infamous expression of confusion. After seven years Albus thought he would be used to it by now.

“We’re heading to CERN tomorrow. We agreed to take it easy today so we could have an early morning.”

Albus shrugs. “I have a vial of Hangover Draught I stole from James.”

“I thought you were off drinking?” Scorpius asks.

“I was.”

Scorpius drags his eyebrows together. “Well… what changed your mind in the space of twelve hours?”

Albus thinks. Thinks about the lingering scent of cinnamon that wraps around his mind and suffocates his consciousness. Then he thinks about the constant presence of vanilla and apple that is engrained in his mind. And about the idea of both of them mixing in the same space, the same air, at the same time. He thinks about Wyatt, the twinkle in his eye and the curl of his hair, and he thinks about _Scorpius_. Scorpius who doesn’t even need any description anymore.

He shrugs. “We’re in Switzerland,” he says. “Might as well live a little.”

⚡

“Is it just me,” Albus says, chin tilted upwards and hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Or is it really not that impressive?”

Scorpius giggles from beside him, fingers clicking the button of their disposable camera. “No, it’s not just you. This thing really isn’t all too great.”

They stand in front of _Jet d'Eau_ just after ten in the morning, lips still warm from their breakfast cups of tea and fingers greasy from slices of toast. They left the hostel just after nine, spending a few hours lulling about in the room and giving themselves time to enjoy their food and accommodation. Albus had tried to avoid Wyatt’s gaze as they prepared to leave, but something about him kept making Albus want to look.

“It’s quite literally just a big fountain. You can see these anywhere.” Albus murmurs, resting his arms on the railing spread out in front of him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to running underneath it a couple of times, I think that would be pretty fun. But why they list this as one of their top attractions when they have all that,” Scorpius gestures to the grandiose buildings and exquisite landscape surrounding them. “This falls right to the bottom of my pile.”

Albus smiles. He glances to his side to look at Scorpius, taking in his profile and the way the baby-blue cap squashes his wavy hair flat against his forehead. “Fancy heading to that museum instead?”

Scorpius gently bumps into his side and Albus takes that as a yes. They chat about meaningless things; the way the leaves jump across their shoes in the light breeze and whether the cat they pass on the bridge understands when Albus waves and whispers a quiet hello to him. Casual conversations, the types that Albus would love to remember for the rest of his life.

As they walk through the streets and wind past little chocolate shops and tourist stalls the words come easily between the two of them. They split a bottle of water and a banana for a mid-morning snack, pausing to read inscriptions on benches or admire graffiti murals decorating exposed brick walls at the ends of junctions. Scorpius’ shoes click quietly on the floor, Albus’ steps scuffing as he drags his feet.

“This place is really tranquil,” Albus observes as they pass a small family next to the Lake, the two small children doing handstands in the grass patches. “Think I prefer it to Spain and France.”

“You’re going to keep saying that until we get back home, Al. That you prefer each new place. Said it about France and said it about Spain.” Scorpius says, gently knocking their knuckles together.

Albus shrugs, staring at the sky as a flock of birds soar towards the horizon. “Well, maybe when we get back I’ll finally make an official, well-balanced judgement.”

Scorpius sighs. “Have you thought about, like, not going back? Just… wandering. Going from place to place forever.”

“I mean… I guess so,” Albus says. He looks to Scorpius but his friend is staring at his feet, carefully kicking a pebble along the lakeside path they’re following. “But that would be very expensive, and it would feel too much like running away.”

“Maybe running away isn’t too much of a bad thing.”

“Scorpius Malfoy? Running away?” Albus asks. He gently tugs on Scorpius’ sleeve in an attempt to catch his eye, but Scorpius is insistent on staring at anything other than Albus.

“Ignore me.”

Albus frowns, gripping tightly on Scorpius’ sleeve to stop them in their tracks. “Hey, no. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Scorpius huffs. “I will throw you into the lake, Albus Severus Potter.”

“And I will drag you in with me so we drown together,” Albus argues. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Scorpius repeats, blinking erratically as he shakes his head. “I mean. It’s nothing, not important. Just me being lost in my own imagination.”

“What’s brought on all this running away malarkey? It was your idea to only come out here for a month. I thought… I thought you were excited to go back and start the rest of your life.” Albus says.

Scorpius doesn’t answer at first, just stares out at the lake and traces the path of a boat carrying a load of tourists out onto the vast expanse. He fiddles with the hem of his jumper, dragging a fingernail over the outline of his belt buckle. Then he looks back at Albus.

“Everything is easier out here,” Scorpius says. “I… I can feel myself opening up here. Away from the pressures of home. I love my dad, and I love the home and the life I have ahead of me. But I love being out here, with _you_, more. It feels like I can be myself without the worry of judgement.”

Albus’ eyebrows pull together. “Why would anyone judge you?” He presses.

Scorpius rubs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter. We’re nearly at the museum.”

Albus lingers on the spot for a moment, watching as Scorpius walks away from him. He gently scratches the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feelings of worry that flood his system as he thinks about something being wrong with Scorpius. Perhaps it’s just exhaustion, Albus thinks. Travelling so much in such a short space of time isn’t the easiest thing in the world, after all.

“Come on, slow poke,” Scorpius calls back to him, a little bit of his normal happiness slipping into his voice. “Otherwise I’ll go to this fascinating museum without you.”

⚡

The _Musee d’Histoire des Sciences_ is in the most peculiar place. Tucked in a pocket of space surrounded by thickets of trees, a short walk away from the main road, with a view of the lake from the rear. It’s rather small for a museum, Albus thinks, a quaint detached building almost white in colour, sticking out like a sore thumb among the sparkling jade trees and grassy patches that outline it. A small staircase leads up to the door, and more windows than Albus can count look out to every inch of the ground within which it is situated. The air is fresh, it feels clean and crisp as they breathe, and the sun trickles through small spaces in the clouds that float overhead to paint the ground golden.

Scorpius pauses at the base of the stairs and takes a couple of photos of the building, forcing Albus to sit on the staircase at one point so he could snap one of him for their collection, too. He picks up a small map when they walk in, Albus peeking over his shoulder to see if there is anything of interest to him in there. Most of the sentences are in French and, despite his greatest efforts back in Paris, Albus truly can’t understand a single word of it.

They wander around the cramped corridors and hold their bags to their chests to avoid bumping any of the precious artefacts and ancient scientific apparatus over. Wisps of apple drift past Albus as he walks behind Scorpius to look into a cabinet, the sound of the floorboard creaking beneath their footsteps filling the comforting silence between them.

Albus keeps casting glances over his shoulder to look at Scorpius, to see if everything is okay. The walk to the museum after their half-conversation about Scorpius wanting to stay out here forever had been suffocating. Albus so badly wanted to ask more questions, to coax Scorpius out of this slump he tumbled into, but he could sense from the way Scorpius looked at everything other than him that it would be a bad decision to reignite the flame that was so desperately put out moments before.

Albus gently drags his fingertip over the barrel of a telescope looking out over the lake. The golden metal shimmers under the streaky beams of sun that pass through the window, illuminating the telescope as if it were something he needed to look through. As he perches on the stool, it creaks under his weight. Albus closes one eye, squints with the other, and leans against the eye piece. He gently tilts the telescope right and left, up and down, drinking in the view it magnifies of the lake. He can make out the expressions of tourists on boat trips, their hair whipping around their faces and fluttering into the air as the open breeze whips the strands into the sky. He can make out the details of duck feathers as they soar from the sky and land in the middle of the lake, droplets of water trickling down their backs and off their bodies. The sun makes the lake sparkle like a cluster of diamonds, the light current outlining with white highlights; precious necklaces that wind around the necks of the waves tumbling to the bank that contains the lake.

_Click_.

Albus looks away from the telescope and sees Scorpius with the camera again. He smiles a little, fiddling with his fingers as he breaks their gaze and looks back to the telescope. Scorpius’ footsteps sound closer as he walks towards Albus, his weight soon pressing onto Albus’ back as he rests his head on his shoulder. Scorpius lazily drapes his arms around Albus’ shoulders, and Albus waits a few moments before crossing one of his arms upwards to gently grip Scorpius’ wrist.

“View’s really nice out there.” Albus stupidly says. He mentally slaps himself for the comment.

Scorpius’ chuckles shudder against Albus’ back. “Smooth.” He murmurs.

Albus instinctively squeezes Scorpius’ wrist a little. “Got any super cool information about what all this stuff is, then?” He asks, spinning on the stool so he faces Scorpius instead.

Scorpius doesn’t move. Stays stood in front of Albus, arms still draped over his shoulders. Albus thinks this isn’t a position they normally find themselves in, but he isn’t going to complain. “It’s just a curation of instruments from notable Swiss scientists. We walked through the Saussure room a few moments ago. He was, like, a really famous Muggle scientist. He was one of the first to reach the summit of Mont-Blanc, and measured the height of it with near perfect accuracy. I did walk past something I really like. Come.”

Scorpius lets his hand fall down Albus’ arm, fingers coolly wrapping around his wrist as he pulls him up and leads them into a separate room. Albus would question the sudden surge in physical contact if he weren’t so distracted by how close they were. Paradoxical, perhaps.

Scorpius stops them in front of what Albus recognises as a sundial, and can’t help the confusion that clouds his mind as Scorpius stares lovingly at it.

“Um,” Albus says. “This is a sundial. We have these in the wizarding world.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Scorpius says. “It looks like a sundial, sure. But it’s not. It’s been charmed by a wizard to also tell you about your romantic prospects. I was really surprised to see one in here. They’ve been banned from the wizarding world because people started exploiting them and using them to try and accuse their significant others of having an affair.”

“Wait, what?” Albus asks. “I’m confused. How is it supposed to tell you your romantic prospects?”

Scorpius smiles. “Well, it takes the basic mechanics of a sundial but manipulates what they mean. So you know that the spike in the middle casts shadows depending on where the sun is in the sky, and those shadows are then interpreted as the time,” he begins to explain, hovering his finger over the sundial. “You can see it has two different rings of symbols on the outside. Roman numerals and then tally marks?”

“They tell the hours, obviously.” Albus says, still not catching on to what Scorpius is trying to explain.

“They would in a normal dial. The roman numerals and tally marks translate to two different lists of characteristics that are supposed to tell you what the prospects of your love life are. The roman numerals tell you the nature of your relationship with your soulmate – so, for example, whether you’ve met them yet or are already with them or have broken up with them – and the tally marks represent emotions,” Scorpius explains. “It’s charmed so that the dial itself will move to face a numeral, and a shadow will cast itself onto a tally. The two then create a story.”

“How on Earth do you know all this?” Albus asks, bending his thumb to gently rub Scorpius’ wrist bone.

Scorpius shrugs. “I’m not actually sure. But you can see the initials of the wizard who charmed it in the middle, along with a little symbol that usually tells you where they’re from. That one looks a lot like a badger, so this guy could have been a Hogwarts student for all we know.”

The two of them pause their conversation as a muggle couple pass through, taking a glance at the sundial on their brief observation of the room. Albus smiles a little at them, hoping they don’t find it odd that two boys are craning over this sundial to within an inch of their life.

“So,” Albus says, clearing his throat as he looks back to the sundial. “You going to find out your romantic prospects, then?”

Scorpius shrugs his shoulders, letting go of Albus’ wrist to touch the sundial instead. “I’m not sure.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. “Why not? It can’t hurt.”

“I…” Scorpius murmurs. “I guess I’m just afraid of what it’s going to say.”

“Scorp,” Albus says, soft. “What’s the worst thing it could say?”

Scorpius doesn’t answer him, just drags his eyes over the circumference of the dial. “I don’t know… you’ve already met them and the emotion is angry. You’ve already broken up with them and the emotion is guilt…”

“Is this about Rose?” Albus asks.

Scorpius shrugs.

“I’ll do it, then,” Albus says. “I’m intrigued. What do I do?”

Scorpius glances at Albus. He goes to say something but hesitates. Instead, he gently picks up Albus’ hand and presses the pad of his index finger on the number six. “You just hold your finger there and the dial and shadows will move. Then you take your finger off and read the story of your romantic life.”

Albus watches as the dial begins to slowly spin around, the shadow turning in the opposite direction. He glances to Scorpius as the movement stops, the dial pointing at five and the tally pointing to eleven, waiting to see what the numbers translate to.

Scorpius’ head tilts to the side as he reads the numbers, corner of his mouth twitching up into a small smile. “Right, well,” he says. “Five is you’ve already met them, and eleven is content.”

“I’ve already met them and it’s content? What on Earth does that mean?” Albus asks, tracing the indentations of the numerals on the dial.

“Exactly that, I suppose,” Scorpius shrugs. “They’re already in your social circle, you know them. And your relationship with them is pleasant. You should be glad you got a really positive one, Al.”

Albus smiles, gently flicking Scorpius’ cheek. “Please do yours,” he murmurs, “I know you’re worried about what it’ll show, but I think it would give you more comfort than you know.”

Scorpius looks helplessly at Albus. “Al…”

“Scorp.”

Scorpius sighs. “Fine,” he says, placing his finger over the space where Albus’ had been a few moments before. “Only because I know you’d give me _that_ expression if I don’t.”

Albus grins, gently pinching Scorpius’ cheek as they look at the dial. And they keep looking, but nothing changes. Scorpius presses his finger down with more pressure, but neither the dial or shadow move from their positions. They stare confusedly at the sundial, Scorpius trying a finger from his other hand to try and work out what was wrong.

“Is it broken? Surely it can’t be. It literally just worked.” Albus murmurs.

“I… I’m not sure. Unless we have to wait a couple of minutes between uses.”

“Or,” Albus says. “It could be that your romantic prospects are the same as mine.”

Scorpius looks to him. “Could be.”

“Already met them and it’s content.” Albus repeats.

“If they are both the same,” Scorpius says, finally letting go of the sundial. “Then I think we’re both going to be pretty lucky at some point in our lives.”

Albus nods. He watches as Scorpius continues through the museum, following close behind with a finger holding onto the handle of Scorpius’ backpack. Albus tries to think about people he knows who he has a content relationship with.

Then he tries to stop thinking about it, because there’s only really one person who crops into his mind. And Scorpius is already running riot in Albus’ real life, he doesn’t really need him clogging up his mind, too.

⚡

“What’s it going to take to convince you that this will be _fun_?” Albus asks, holding a mug of tea to his lips.

Scorpius, sat opposite with a glass of pink lemonade dangling between his fingertips, shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I guess I’d rather just spend a night with you in the hostel instead of going out and drinking more alcohol.”

“Nobody said you have to drink any alcohol. I’m sure the bars in Switzerland also serve water.” Albus says.

They’d found a little café tucked among the streets of central Geneva, hidden away from the brisk breeze cast from the lake and situated amongst the casual, lazy waves of tourists that pass through the city, deciding to take a little break for their lunch. They’d split a fancy sounding sandwich between the two of them, filling the table with various different sides and a couple of drinks each to hydrate themselves after all the walking they’d done.

“Right, okay,” Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows you can’t go out without having at least one drink. You can try, but it’s not gonna work. Anyway, why are you so obsessed with the idea of going out with four strangers?”

“All friends start out as strangers, and I think they’re cool,” Albus shrugs, sipping from his tea. “We haven’t really been around people our age so far, it could be fun to make some friends and some memories.”

Scorpius tilts his head to the side. “There must be something in that tea of yours. The Albus Potter I know and love would never willingly go out of his way to try and make friends.”

“Perhaps it’s something in the Swiss air.” Albus shrugs.

Scorpius chuckles but doesn’t respond.

“It’ll be fun,” Albus promises. “I wouldn’t be annoying you about it if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.”

Scorpius looks at him. His top lip shimmers slightly pink from his lemonade, and Albus thinks if he were to kiss him he’d taste very sweet.

Wait. _No_, Albus thinks. He shouldn’t be thinking about that at all.

“Fine,” Scorpius smiles. “Just for you. You keep coming to all these boring museums with me, so I guess it’s only fair I go along with one of your odd ideas.”

“Hey,” Albus says. “The museums aren’t boring. They’re cool.”

“They’re dull, Al. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Albus retorts.

Scorpius shakes his head. “Stop being nice to me.”

“I’m _always_ nice to you.” Albus says.

Scorpius gently tosses a sugar cube over at Albus, trying to hide a smile that blossoms in his eyes and tries to threaten his lips. They sit in a tranquil silence after that, Scorpius sipping on his lemonade and pulling apart a bread roll from the basket between them.

Albus so painfully loves him, he thinks. It almost hurts to look at Scorpius because he burns so bright and is always radiating the most electric energy. Even when he is just sitting there, legs pulled up to his chest and eyes flicking around all the paintings hung on the walls, he bubbles love. Adoration. Beauty.

But above it all he’s just Albus’ best friend. _His_ Scorpius. The one that he can depend on for anything and everything. The one that makes him see clear when everything is blurry. A blanket of sunlight breaking through after a detrimental storm. And he should tell him. Should tell him, should tell him, _can_ tell him.

“Scorpius…” Albus says.

Scorpius looks up from his lemonade, swiping a hand over his chin to wipe off any residue. “Yeah?”

“You know I’m gay, right?”

Scorpius pauses for a moment, stops his fingers fidgeting and puts down his glass, and then finally looks directly at Albus. With a different type of gaze. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh,” Albus says. Perhaps his pining hasn’t been as obvious as he previously thought. “Well, I am.”

Scorpius smiles at him. “I love you,” he says. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Albus shrugs. “I… don’t know,” he says. “I kind of talked it through with James when we were in that café back in Spain. But telling your brother is different to telling your best friend.”

“Ah,” Scorpius smiles. “So _that’s_ what I missed when I went to get the food.”

Albus chuckles. “It was.”

“Just so you know,” Scorpius continues. “This isn’t going to change anything. I don’t know what was going on up there in your mind while you were working this out, but it’s not going to make anything any different. It might seem like a big deal for the rest of the day, but in the long run…”

“I know.” Albus smiles.

“Good,” Scorpius says. “You’re my best friend. And I’m really proud of you, for navigating all this by yourself. And I’m really glad you trust me with this.”

“I trust you with everything,” Albus says, gently shoving Scorpius. “This thing just took a while to get to grips with.”

Scorpius smiles. He gently moves his chair around to sit closer to Albus, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him into his side. “You know, you’re the best person I’ve ever met in my life, right?”

“No, I don’t.” Albus jokes.

Scorpius chuckles, pressing a kiss to Albus’ cheek. “Well, you are.”

⚡

_Grandpa,_

_You would love it in Switzerland. So many cool Muggle artefacts. We went to a museum of science earlier and I picked up a couple of things from the gift shop for both you and me. They aren’t genuine ancient things but they’re pretty decent replicas. _

_I miss you. More than I thought I would, if that doesn’t sound mean. I knew I would miss you, obviously, but there are a lot of moments where I see something and think hey, grandpa would love this. But Scorp and I are taking plenty of photos, so I’ll be able to show you them all when we get back. _

_I’m not sure why I decided to write to you now of all times. Mum will probably be very mad that I’m updating you before I’m updating her, but you’ve just been in my mind recently. _

_It won’t be long until I’m back, though, so I’ll be able to fill you in on the details in person soon enough._

_I love you a lot. Always will._

_Albus x_

⚡

“Is it just me,” Flo says later that night, leaning against her bunk with her gaze firmly planted on Scorpius. “Or did anyone else totally not expect him to pull _that_ outfit from his tiny bag?”

Albus smiles as everyone turns to glance at Scorpius, all of Scorpius dressed in his elegant, tapered black trousers, slightly see through netted shirt with black embroidered stars covering the bulk of the bodice. Silver thread weaves through some of the space to add a glimmering spark when the light touches him a certain way, and Albus is personally very glad that the belt with a snake-shaped buckle is back.

“Nope,” Otto adds. “I definitely didn’t expect it either.”

“He’s full of surprises, this one.” Albus says, gently shaking Scorpius by his shoulders.

“Shove off,” Scorpius chuckles. “You never know when someone is going to force you on a night out, so I pack in order to prepare for that.”

Flo smiles. “You look amazing. I did not pin you down as the incredibly fashionable one of your pair.”

“Nah,” Ben says, “Out of the two of them I would have picked him to be the fancy one.”

Albus chuckles as he sits on his bunk, tying up his laces. “You have good judgement.”

The weight on Albus’ bed sinks to the side as Wyatt sits next to him, sinking out of the conversation and joining Albus in his safe little bubble below everyone else’s eye level. Albus can see Scorpius glance over his shoulder and down at them, but he quickly returns his focus to the conversation.

“Enjoy your day out in Geneva?” Wyatt asks, gently bumping into Albus’ shoulder.

Albus gently bumps him back. “It was very fun,” he says. “I didn’t realise that Geneva was so big. Pretty sure my feet are slowly dying from the hills.”

“And you do all that walking just to end up in a place that’s not really that interesting. I mean, the fountain? It’s like half an hour from here yet it’s really not that interesting.” Wyatt says.

“But it’s one of the tallest fountains in Europe, Wyatt!” Albus teases, ruffling up his hair as he finishes his laces.

“Hey,” Scorpius gently kicks his shin with the bottom of his shoe, holding out a hand for Albus. “You ready to go?”

Albus looks from Scorpius to Wyatt and then to Scorpius’ hand. He takes it after a moment, then holds his own out for Wyatt to help him up. Scorpius drops his hand after that, rubbing his palms over his trousers.

“So,” Albus says. “Where we going?”

⚡

_L’Usine_ is the club they end up at. It’s a lengthy walk away from their hostel, and Albus stays clung to Scorpius’ side for the entire time they walk, and the last thing he expects to be greeted with is a stand-alone old factory. The building doesn’t look like a club at all, and Albus would’ve walked straight past it during the day without know what it was. If it weren’t for the various other young adults hanging around outside the door and sipping from plastic cups as cigarettes dangle from between their fingers, Albus would have just assumed the building was a run-down factory on the edge of the lake,

The air is thick with a layer of smoke that mingles with the simmering heat and Albus ducks behind Scorpius as they walk to try and block out some of the ashy remnants that he doesn’t want to inhale. The six of them shuffle between groups of people to get to the door, Albus’ vision immediately declining as they walk into the darkness. It is the most unusual club Albus thinks he’s ever seen (not that he’s been to too many during his life), but an old run-down factory where one side has been transformed into the stage and the other side has a bar strung alongside the wall is definitely one he didn’t think would exist.

A flock of people cluster around the stage area, various coloured liquids trickling over the rim of their cups as they periodically bounce to the bass that shudders through the building. Albus tightens his grip on Scorpius’ sleeve as they filter down the steps into the grand expanse before them. He looks up as the lights glide from each side of the building, brightening various complexions when the rays graze over their flushed cheeks and beaming eyes. The ceiling seems endlessly far away, Albus can barely see where the lights are hung, and the building feels so huge Albus thinks he could drown in it. The people dancing are threatening waves that are daring to drag him into their current and wash him away from the safe grip of Scorpius. He thinks for a moment he really doesn’t feel like being here and that perhaps Scorpius was right in that they should have an early night, but then he looks at Scorpius – with all his sweet freckles and messy hair and eyes that glisten like they’ve just uncovered some great treasure – and that idea goes straight from his mind.

“So how are we doing drinks then?” Flo asks; as she turns to look at the rest of the group her skirt spins and creates a kaleidoscope of colours when the lights catch the material in the right way.

“Rounds?” Otto shrugs.

“I’m feeling like more of a water person today.” Albus shrugs, letting go of Scorpius’ sleeve so he can loop his finger through his belt loop instead.

He feels Scorpius gently rub his lower back. “Seriously?” Scorpius asks. “What happened to living a little? You’re telling me you’ve changed your mind again?”

“Are you saying you _want_ me to drink?” Albus asks. Suddenly they’re impossibly close, closer than Albus noticed, and he can feel Scorpius’ minty breath on his skin.

Scorpius shrugs. “I’m not saying anything,” he murmurs. “I just think this night will be a lot more bearable for everyone involved if there’s a bit of alcohol mixed in.”

“Scorp, you know I’m not good with alcohol.”

“You’re right,” Scorpius says, gently tugging Albus towards the bar. “But you’re fun with alcohol.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. If it weren’t for the entire group gradually dragging him towards the bar he would have questioned what Scorpius meant.

Perhaps, Albus thinks, if he started to think about what Scorpius meant his life would be a lot clearer. Which would make his life easier, but an awful lot more boring.

⚡

The lights are hot on Albus’ skin and Scorpius’ touch on his side burns ever so slightly as they bump into each other among the cluster of other club-goers. The cup in his hand is half empty, or half full, and Albus couldn’t tell you what number drink it is of the evening. All he can tell you for certain is that Scorpius’ shirt is getting sheerer and sheerer the more time ticks on and he can’t stand how good he looks right now.

Albus has to keep looking away as to not get burned by Scorpius’ bright light. When he’s here, happy and glowing and _living_, he feels so dangerous to Albus. Like one touch could kill him. Scorpius is a true safety hazard to Albus, but he’s also the one person who makes him feel alive. It’s like some cruel paradox, Albus thinks, that he loves this boy so much but knows that at any moment Scorpius could burn too bright and shatter him at his core.

“You’re staring,” Scorpius says, gently bumping Albus’ nose with the edge of his cup. “Or, at least, you’re staring and then pretending that you aren’t when I look at you.”

_I should kiss him_.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Albus shrugs.

Scorpius smiles and gently shakes his head. “Is there something on my face?” He asks, wiping his sleeve over his lips. The friction from the scratchy material of his sleeve leaves Scorpius lips looking extra pink after he wipes over them, and Albus has to look away for his own sanity.

_I should really kiss him._

“Nothing,” Albus promises. “You just… just caught my eye.”

Scorpius smiles. “Really?”

“Really.” Albus nods.

Scorpius lets out a quiet laugh. So quiet Albus can barely hear it over the sound of the music. So quiet that if they weren’t millimetres apart Albus definitely wouldn’t have heard it.

_I really, really should kiss him_.

Albus considers it for a moment. He takes a few millimetres off the space between them, looking from Scorpius’ eyes to his lips and then back again. Scorpius is impossible to read in this moment; Albus feels like he’s looking straight through him rather than at him, but he wants to do it so badly. He leans a little closer forwards, and he _swears_ Scorpius does too (or he’s just a bit tipsy and weak on his feet), and he should do it.

“Al…”

And then he doesn’t.

Something in his soul tells Albus to stop and so he does, adding a little more distance between them but still keeping a finger on Scorpius’ belt loop. Perhaps the alcohol wears off a little. Because it hits him right there and then that what he was about to do would’ve thrown everything in the air. Ruined a lot of it, made a lot of it very confusing.

Scorpius is looking at him with desperation in his eyes. He tries to speak but no words come out, and all Albus can do is swallow away his feelings. Scorpius goes to reach out to him but Albus steps back. He wipes a hand over his face and swirls the drink in his cup.

“I’m, uh,” Albus says, reluctantly letting go of Scorpius. “Going to go get another drink.”

He feels empty as he walks away from Scorpius and heads, instead, towards the door. The cool air greets him like a welcome friend, curling around his skin and sinking into his soul as he exhales. Albus leans against the wall, his drink staring back at him. It’s just him, the drink and the stars.

Albus feels suddenly alone. He’s in the great wide world and there are thousands of people just minutes away from him, and a gaggle of ones he knows right inside the building, but he’s never felt so lost. Well, maybe he has. When Albus thinks about it, being potentially stranded years in the past with the child of Voldemort flying about somewhere made him feel pretty lost and helpless. But this is definitely in second place.

He gently pinches his skin to pull himself out of this self-pitying trance. It doesn’t matter what he almost did, what matters is that he _didn’t._ So what, he highly considered kissing his best friend mere hours after coming out to him. He didn’t go through with it. Neither of them will remember it in the morning, he’s sure.

“Hey.”

Albus jumps at the voice at his side, the shock not subsiding when he realises it’s Wyatt stood next to him. Wyatt with his stupidly nice smelling cologne and his fancy fluttery hair that makes him look like God’s gift to the world. He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, watch glimmering under the glare of the streetlights, and Albus hates how magnetic this guy is.

“Hi,” Albus smiles. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Wyatt shrugs. “I figured. I was coming over to see if you and blondie wanted another drink and then you left. Thought it’d be rude to not see if you were okay.”

“Cute,” Albus says. “But I’m fine. It just got a bit overwhelming in there.”

“It’s definitely not the most intimate of clubs, is it? Feels like everyone is watching your every move.” Wyatt says, pausing between sentences to sip from his drink.

Albus chuckles. “It’s really, really not,” he says. He feels a few thin splashes of rain tickle his hands and fall into his drink, and mentally groans at the fact they’ll have to walk back to the hostel in this weather whenever they leave. “It’s also not really my scene. The heavy alternative sort of music… not really for me.”

“No, really?” Wyatt jokes, gently nudging Albus’ side. “I totally penned you down as the rock-star type. You _definitely_ don’t look like the softest human being to exist.”

“_Hey_,” Albus laughs, turning to face Wyatt. “I’m not the softest human being to exist.”

“No, you’re right. You’re the second softest human being. I’m pretty sure your friend is the softest.”

“Scorpius?” Albus asks. Scorpius’ name feels foreign on his tongue and, _Merlin_, he really wishes he didn’t try to kiss him.

Wyatt nods. “He’s almost too delicate to exist. He also looked a little sad when you walked off,” he says. “I know it’s not my business. But were you… arguing?”

Albus sighs, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “No, not arguing,” he shrugs. “We, uh. It’s complicated.”

“I get it,” Wyatt says. “The two of you were kidnapped by the daughter of Voldemort and went through that whole shenanigan together. Must be kind of tricky to navigate the aftermath of _that_.”

Albus drags his eyebrows together. “How do you know about that?”

Wyatt laughs. “What? Did you think that Voldemort having a daughter wasn’t going to be international news? Come on, Al. That information spread fast, and so did the fact that you and Mr Malfoy were involved.”

“My…” Albus wavers. “My name is Albus.”

Wyatt smiles. “Of course,” he says, holding out his hand for Albus. “Are you ready to come back inside, Albus?”

Albus looks to his hand, then to Wyatt. Part of him thinks this could end up in a huge mess, another part thinks it could end up being the evening of a lifetime. “Yeah. I am.”

⚡

It’s loud. And _hot_. And Albus has a drink that he doesn’t really want to finish but does anyway because it’s some peppermint flavoured drink that he can’t get enough of. There’s a new band on the stage, playing some loud, thumping music that goes straight to Albus’ mind. He hates when the songs end because then his headache starts, but when the music picks back up, the tones shuddering the structure of the building and mixing with the alcohol on his breath, he ascends to some different plane of existence where he doesn’t feel anything and can forget about everything going on in his mind.

He can’t see Scorpius, but he also can’t break out of the crowd to try and find him. Wyatt’s watch tells him it’s much past midnight, and the pounding on the roof tells him that it’s pouring with rain outside. Rain sounds good in Albus’ mind right now. Something cool and refreshing to wash out the grime that this night will leave all over his skin.

Flo, Otto and Ben are with them, lost in a trance caused by the music and the drinks and the atmosphere. None of them has any clue what’s happened to Scorpius either, and Albus can’t help but keep stretching on to his tiptoes to see if he can spot his favourite blonde hair somewhere in the sea of people surrounding him.

But he can’t. The only blonde hair he can see is Wyatt’s. Wyatt, right in front of him.

“You good?” Wyatt asks, gently pressing the back of his hand to Albus’ skin. He’s cold, _deathly_ cold, and Albus sinks a little into the touch. The cool is all he wants, the cool and the closeness and the _blondeness_.

“I’m fine,” Albus says. Or, well, shouts. The music is rather loud. “Great, actually.”

“Good.” Wyatt says.

Close. Too close, Albus thinks. But not close enough, too.

“You got your dance, then,” Albus says. “Has it lived up to your expectations?”

Wyatt grins. He leans close to Albus’ ear to speak. “Smashed them, to be honest.”

Albus turns his head slightly to the side to look at Wyatt. He smells of vodka. He oozes this wealth and aura of put togetherness, and with the flickers of alcohol and drink washing over him Albus feels intoxicated. More so than he already was.

“What?” Wyatt asks, not looking away from Albus.

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Wyatt smiles. “That’s fine.”

_He shouldn’t do it._

Albus looks at him, _really_ looks at him. Everything feels a bit blurry; all he can focus on is the blonde, blonde, blonde. He leans a bit closer, then backtracks a little. Then there’s a hand gently brushing his cheek and Albus can’t help it anymore.

So he kisses him.

Kisses Wyatt.

And he doesn’t feel _anything_. He feels weightless but plain but it’s still happening and he doesn’t realise what’s going on until he stops and sees Wyatt staring over Albus’ shoulder. Albus squints confusedly at him before turning on his heels. And, _oh_.

There’s the blonde hair he wanted so badly to see a few moments before.

Scorpius is staring at him, looking horribly betrayed and resigned, and all of Albus’ feelings come rushing back to him. He doesn’t even bother to say goodbye to their group when Scorpius vanishes again and he goes after him. Shoving through the crowd, knocking a rainbow of drinks out of their cups and all over the floor.

Albus sees a sliver of Scorpius as he heads out the door, and he trips over his feet slightly as he ascends the staircase and steps out into the sodden streets of Geneva once more. His head is dizzy, barely able to recall where he is and what he’s doing, but everything clears slightly as he sees Scorpius heading off down the street.

“Scorpius,” Albus says, shuddering as he walks into the rain and is immediately soaked. “_Scorpius!”_

Scorpius doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look over his shoulder. Just keeps battling through the rain, arms wrapped around himself, determined to get away from everything and everyone.

Albus runs after him. He feels so shamefully dramatic running after Scorpius as it rains around them. His life truly is some kind of cruel angsty novel. He mentally curses the author of his life story for putting him through so much turmoil, then realises that _he’s_ the author who makes the bad choices. But he doesn’t have time to hate himself for that right now while he’s too busy hating himself for being so _dim_ about Scorpius being right there.

“Scorpius. Stop,” Albus says as he finally catches up. He steps in front of Scorpius and gently pushes him back, breathing heavily in an attempt to stay on his feet and stay present in the conversation. “What are you doing?”

“Albus, I love you, but you’re the last person I want to see right now.” Scorpius says. He tries to step around Albus but Albus is his shadow, mimicking every move and trapping him to this small space on the pavement. The lake is to their right, the quiet streets of Geneva to their left. It’s just the two of them, and it burns.

“Why?” Albus asks. Utterly stupid question, but he still isn’t controlled enough to form coherent sentences.

Scorpius stares incredulously at him. The rain has drenched his shirt and left it stuck to his skin, but Albus is so dejected he can barely focus on that right now. “Why? Are you joking, or are you seriously that fucking _dim_ and _drunk_ that you can’t tell?”

“Woah, okay. Angry Scorpius.”

“_Yes_! Angry Scorpius!” Scorpius snaps. He wipes his hands over his eyes to brush away the rain, and possibly some tears, before continuing. “Pissed off, annoyed, angry, sad Scorpius.”

“Is this because of… that? Did you see that?” Albus asks.

“Of course I saw it, you idiot,” Scorpius says. Albus can tell he’s angry, but the wavering sadness in his voice is subsiding the ripples of agitation for now. “You said you were going to get a drink and you never came back. So I went to find you, you weren’t there, and when I get back to you you’re shacking up with the American stranger we met _yesterday_.”

“I’m…” Albus feels helpless. “I don’t understand. I’m not getting you.”

“You drag me to a random nightclub in Geneva, even though I _asked_ if we could stay in, and you abandon me so you can get off with the fancy guy you don’t even know,” Scorpius says. He gets right up to Albus’ face, prodding him right over the heart to accentuate his point. “Is that the only reason you told me earlier? So that you can come out here and do that with _him_ without me having questions?”

“What?” Albus asks. “No, of course not. I told you because you’re my best friend and I wanted you to know. Do you really think I’m that conniving and baseless, Scorpius?”

“I don’t even know who you are right now, Al. The Al I know and love wouldn’t have gone against his best friend to try and impress four strangers we’re never going to see again. He wouldn’t have tried to kiss me before disappearing and then doing it with a random person instead. And he definitely wouldn’t be standing there looking at me like I’m the cruel one when he _knows_ I wouldn’t do this without a reason.”

“What’s the big deal with me wanting to come here? To try and make friends?” Albus snaps, too. Stood in the rainy streets of Geneva in the middle of the night seems like the best place to start yelling out all their feelings, he supposes. “Sorry that I’d rather spend the limited time I have out here having fun instead of wasting half the day sleeping.”

“Wasting? So spending time with me would have been time wasted?” Scorpius asks.

Albus freezes. “What? No! That wasn’t what I–”

“And by the way, the big deal with you wanting to come here is because it means you don’t care about what _I _want to do, Al. I haven’t asked to do anything during this trip, I’ve gone along with whatever we planned together, or whatever impulsive thing you’ve decided to do. Staying in and spending time together and sleeping so we can go to this stupid science place tomorrow is the _only_ thing I have asked of you,” Scorpius says. He’s sniffling louder now, hand brushing through his sodden hair as he articulates his thoughts. “The fact you can’t see how _awful_ that makes me feel says a lot about your priorities, Al.”

“It’s a Muggle science facility, Scorpius. It’s not the be all or end all!”

“Why can’t you get it through your thick skull that this is _important_ to me, Albus?” Scorpius asks, gently pushing Albus back a little. “This entire time I’ve been going on about how I’m here, on this damn trip, to try and learn things. So I can go back home and start to train to become a Healer to fix things. This silly Muggle science facility can help me.”

“_How?_” Albus yells.

“Because they do research to cure fucking diseases, you sweet dimwit!” Scorpius matches his volume. The rain around them falls harder and louder, and Scorpius shivers from the cool flooding his system. “Diseases that kill people, that ruin families, and that break people’s hearts. I don’t fully understand how, but they do. And it works. What they do there helps to cure things. And I want to go there to _learn_ so I can discover more about how everything works and try and fix the things that hurt people the most. Do you get it yet?”

Albus swallows thickly. He tilts his head back and looks to the sky. “Your mum…” He whispers, and Scorpius recoils at the mention of her. “Scorp, I’m so sorry. I had no…”

“So forgive me for wanting to spend my evening at our hostel, with _you_, trying to learn as much about this place as possible so I could go there and make the trip worthwhile. Forgive me for being really excited about the prospect of learning something that ensures that what happened to my mother never happens to anyone else again. Forgive me for wanting to waste your time when clearly,” Scorpius says, the anger slowly fizzing out and being replaced by pure sadness. “Clearly, coming here, getting drunk out your mind with people who don’t care about you, is more important.”

Scorpius begins to turn and walk in the opposite direction, but Albus reaches out just in time to grab his sleeve and stop him. “Please,” Albus says. “Please don’t walk off.”

“Oh, and for the record,” Scorpius interrupts, turning and moving so close to Albus that their noses touch. “Who do you think you are going to kiss me and then running off without an explanation?”

“I… I’m,” Albus tries to say _I’m in love with you_, but words fail. “I don’t know.”

Albus can hear Scorpius swallow. He watches as Scorpius goes from staring at him directly to looking at his lips and then closing his eyes entirely. When he reopens them, Albus is still looking at him. “Yeah. I thought so,” Scorpius says. He gently drags his thumb over Albus’ bottom lip, the raindrops on his skin leaving a sheer coat over it. “Look. I love you, _so_ much. You are… my best friend, Al. But I am so incredibly mad at you right now that I’m going to walk off, you aren’t going to follow, and we’ll reset in the morning. Okay?”

Albus lets out a breath. “Okay.”

Scorpius nods. He finally pulls his thumb away and clears his throat. Albus thinks he’s going to say something else, but instead he presses a kiss to Albus’ forehead, turns on his heel, and walks away in the darkness.

And Albus can’t breathe. The air is suffocating but the idea of hurting Scorpius strangles Albus even more. He watches Scorpius grow fainter and fainter until he disappears in the darkness. Now it’s just Albus. No stars, no moon, no sun.

Just Albus.

And he hates the feeling more than words can describe.

⚡

**30th July**

Scorpius won’t talk to him. Won’t even look at him. And it’s hurting Albus so bad but the worst thing is, he thinks, he doesn’t blame Scorpius at all. If the roles were reversed Albus wouldn’t want to speak to Scorpius either. Except the roles would never be reversed because Scorpius would never do something like this.

Why is it, Albus wonders, that whenever they have some issue he himself is always the catalyst of it? He doesn’t even know why Scorpius has stuck around for so long when all Albus brings is misery and arguments and endless angst that could be easily resolved if Albus just had the courage to talk about things instead of cooping them all up.

But he doesn’t have the courage.

And now they’re at CERN, this huge Muggle science facility, and Scorpius won’t even glance his way.

They’re on a guided tour, following a Muggle professional around different areas and peeking through windows to watch scientists at their job. Scorpius is desperately scribbling down information he’s being told, even if he doesn’t truly understand it. Scorpius wants nothing more than to absorb every shred of knowledge he can from this place, and by_ Dumbledore_ it is making Albus feel utterly horrific about what happened much earlier in the morning.

Albus is half-heartedly listening to the guide going on about _particle physics_ and something called a _Large Hadron Collider_ and it still feels so useless to Albus to be here which is possibly the most awful thing about this situation. He still doesn’t see the point in it. There is no way they would ever have this sort of technology back home, nor do either of know anything about ‘physics’, so he can’t wrap his head around how any of this could be useful to Scorpius.

And he keeps mentally scolding himself for feeling that way because that attitude is exactly what got them into this mess. His inability to see something from someone else’s perspective, his true ignorance to try and understand things from Scorpius’ point of view.

_Scorpius_.

Albus looks at Scorpius, currently writing something else down and taking a photograph with their disposable camera, and he wants nothing more than to figure out a way to make things better between them. He just can’t work out the best time or place or way to apologise for being a colossal idiot.

He thinks Scorpius is developing a small cold from their time out in the rain since he keeps dragging his sleeve over his nose and sniffling every now and then. He truly looks so delicate and _soft_ and Albus just wants to grab his sleeve and ask if everything will be okay between them.

Scorpius just needs time, Albus thinks. _Hopes_. Time to work through everything in his mind, time to figure out what on Earth to say to Albus, and then they’ll be okay. They’ll be fine. He hopes.

⚡

Their fingers brush at one point during the tour. They’re walking from one exhibition to the other and both reach for the door at the same time. Scorpius doesn’t flinch or move away from Albus’ touch. Instead, he opens the door and looks at him. Dead in the eye.

Albus can still see the sadness that he hates swimming about among the grey, but there is a flicker of forgiveness beginning to appear too. He goes to say something but can’t, and Scorpius shakes his head anyway. And then he smiles.

_Merlin_, has Albus missed that smile.

Once they’re both through the door Scorpius slings an arm around Albus’ shoulder and melts momentarily into him. Whether this is a sign that things are okay or if Scorpius just needs a hug, Albus can’t tell. But he also doesn’t care. Because at least they’re bridging the gap piece by piece, slowly but surely.

And that’s all Albus needs.

⚡

At the end of their tour they head to the Globe of Science and Innovation. It’s the most incredible building, half of a globe shape and made entirely out of what Albus thinks are wooden planks. It’s like a woven basket, upturned and planted onto the ground and towering above them. Despite all the overnight rain the building looks unfazed, and the winding path up to the main doors isn’t as slippery as other parts of the place have been so far.

Albus is exhausted. He hardly slept after the argument with Scorpius, instead just stared at the slabs above him where Scorpius kept tossing and turning in his sleep. When the other four returned much later he couldn’t help but feel as if everyone was looking at him. Everyone except the person he wanted to be looked at by most. Everyone except Scorpius.

As they get into the exhibition Albus is soothed instantly by the darkness. The low lighting is made to accentuate the big screens that are supposed to depict what happens when particles collide. There are decorations hanging from the ceilings and chairs dotted around information boards. Children tap on screens that seem to respond to their touches, which is mind boggling to Albus, and he can’t help but feel incredibly overwhelmed at the whole thing.

This world is so different from everything he has ever known. He feels like an imposter trespassing on foreign land, like he isn’t worthy to be here because it is all going in one ear and straight out through the other. He doesn’t even have the energy to pretend to be interested, so he splits off from Scorpius and goes to sit on one of the various bean bag chairs dotted around the room that are positioned in front of little screens.

Albus watches the infographic, focusing mainly on the pictures since the words mean nothing to him. He could fall asleep right here if he wanted to, but he doesn’t even seem to have the energy to do that. Albus doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than mope around in a pool of pity he caused himself. His dad would say he’s being a typical teenager, probably.

But Albus doesn’t want to think about his dad because the thought of family makes him long to go home and see them. Being sad and miserable at home is much nicer than being sad and miserable in the middle of Switzerland where the only person he knows is the one person he can’t talk to.

_Merlin_, Albus thinks. He’s really not having a fun time. He loved Switzerland up until about twelve hours ago. Now he wants nothing more than to just leave for Italy right away.

“Hey,” Albus looks up at the sound of a quiet yet desperately wanted voice. “Can I sit?”

Albus scoots over slightly so Scorpius can sit next to him. As his weight falls onto the beanbag the two of them are pulled together, and Albus dares to take the leap to rest his head on Scorpius’ shoulder. They sit in a slightly odd silence for a few moments. Scorpius doesn’t shrug off Albus’ weight and Albus doesn’t try to start a conversation. He hates the tension, but it’s not his place to get rid of it.

“It’s hard being mad at you, you know,” Scorpius finally says, letting his head balance atop of Albus’. “Because you have this pull that makes me never want to be more than two metres away from you.”

“I am… so sorry, Scorpius,” Albus says. “I don’t even have a reasoning to explain it. I don’t want a reason, because that would be an excuse, and there is no excuse for what I did and what I said.”

“Stop, Al. Honestly…”

“No, Scorp,” Albus murmurs. “You’re right. You always are right. You were right in fourth year and you’re right again in the middle of Switzerland. I don’t have the depth or the empathy to look at things from other people’s perspectives. I didn’t realise how much this meant to you and I didn’t even try to understand it before I started being an idiot.”

“I mean,” Scorpius says, chuckling a little. “Yeah. It would’ve been nice for you to have thought things through, but that’s not you, Al. You let your actions and words get ahead of your thoughts. And that’s okay, because you have me to balance you out.”

“I shouldn’t need someone to balance me out, though. I should be able to be a decent human being without needing some different person to do it for me.” Albus sighs.

Scorpius shakes his head. “You don’t get it,” he says. “I love you because you’re rash and you do things without really thinking about the consequences. It makes you so exciting, Al. I obviously wish that _sometimes_ you’d gain a little perspective, but you being who you are isn’t a bad thing.”

“I made you cry, Scorpius.”

Scorpius shrugs. “It was an overwhelming day.”

“Don’t lie to make me feel better, you dork.” Albus gently pokes Scorpius’ knee.

Scorpius smiles. He doesn’t say anything in response.

“Also…” Albus continues. “About the whole… you know… me trying to kiss you thing.”

“No, uh, don’t,” Scorpius says. “We don’t need to talk about that.”

“Scorpius…”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Honestly. It’s fine. There was alcohol involved. It was just… a thing that happened. But didn’t.”

“Right,” Albus says. “But what if it _did_?”

“Why does that matter? There’s no point worrying over hypotheticals. Nothing happened, so you and I are fine.” Scorpius says nonchalantly.

_Too_ nonchalantly for Albus’ sake. He would push the issue more but knows he’s only just safely out of the water and that to add fire to the issue would take them back about a hundred and one steps. He’ll get there eventually, he thinks.

“I’m sort of done with Switzerland, to be honest,” Albus says. “I mean, it’s been lovely here. It’s so pretty and tranquil and wonderful. But I’m utterly exhausted, and I don’t fancy spending another night in that hostel.”

Scorpius looks at him. “Fancy just heading to Italy?” He asks. “We can check out early and head to the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Vanishing Cabinet?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods. “Yeah, did I not tell you? That’s how we’re getting to Rome. There’s a Cabinet hidden in the back of a café run secretly by wizards. You just show your wand and they let you use it. It’s the easiest way for us to get there.”

“Merlin,” Albus smiles. “I’ve missed magic so much.”

Scorpius’ face cracks into a smile. “Yeah. Me, too. The place we’re staying in Italy is in the heart of the wizarding community of Rome, so it’ll be good to be back around our own people.”

“Right, sounds perfect,” Albus says, groaning quietly as he stands up and holds his hand out for Scorpius. “Let’s head to Italy.”

“Italy.” Scorpius smiles, keeping a loose grip on Albus’ wrist as they leave the exhibition and head back to the tram.

“Hey, Scorp,” Albus murmurs as they get to the stop, fiddling with his fingers. “We are okay, right? Back to normal?”

Scorpius smiles. “Of course we’re back to normal,” he says. “You’re my best friend.”

Albus nods. “Good,” he says. “You’re mine, too.”

“I know.”

⚡

The two of them check out of their hostel just after two in the afternoon, talking giddily between themselves about how bizarre it is that the shortest stop over in their trip has ended up being the most dramatic so far. Albus points out an owl that flies above them on their walk to the café, Scorpius noting how odd it is that an owl would be here when he doesn’t think they’re native to Switzerland.

“It looks familiar,” Albus says, watching until the very last second when the owl disappears. “Odd.”

“You probably just recognise the breed. We spent a lot of time around owls back at Hogwarts.” Scorpius smiles, holding the door open for Albus.

Albus smiles, gently flicking Scorpius’ nose. “You’re right,” he says. “Perhaps I should go into owl breeding, I’m sure I have good knowledge on that.”

Scorpius laughs and gently shakes his head as the door closes behind them, leaving the streets of Geneva devoid of their presence. Albus can’t help but think about the owl, though. Even as they step into the cabinet after showing their wands and start their journey to Rome, the feathers and the beak and the quiet hoots it sounded stick in his mind.

For a valid reason, too. Because not that Albus would have known, but the owl had been carrying a letter addressed to him at their hotel in Rome. One that he really will want to read as soon as possible.

“Hey,” Scorpius says. “You okay?”

Albus nods. “I think so, yeah. Just… tired.”

Scorpius smiles. “Me, too,” he says, shutting the door behind them. “We’ll be fine, though. Everything’ll be fine when we get to Rome.”

⚡

_Dear Albus, _

_I really hope this gets to you before you leave for Italy. James told me you’re staying the night before travelling so hopefully you have time to read it. I’m not sure how to word this, or how to put it across in the best way, but something has happened that I think you need to know. Even though you’re travelling and the thought of spoiling your trip hurts me, this is important. And you deserve to know._

_Your Grandpa passed away today._

_It was sudden, and unexpected and to write it down in words for you brings me a pain I never thought I would feel in my life. We don’t think anything bad happened to him. We don’t think he was in pain. He left us in his sleep and your grandmother says he is now in an endless dream. An endless slumber. _

_It breaks my heart to tell you this way, but I couldn’t let you stay out there for a few more weeks without knowing. And I couldn’t tell you to come home, either. Because that’s not what he would have wanted. He would want you to stay out there, stay living and happy and wonderful. Not to come back because of it._

_On his desk was the letter you sent him. He’d written a reply but hadn’t got round to posting it. Once I know where you’re staying in Italy I’ll send it over to you for you to read, if you want. Or it can stay here for when you get back. It’s up to you, my love._

_Please write to let me know you’ve received this letter. I love that you’re travelling but hate that I can’t know that you’ve read this. As soon as you have the time, just send a note._

_I love you so much, Al. We all do. So did Grandpa. I know this isn’t the letter you would have wanted to receive, but sometimes life throws things at us that we can’t handle. _

_Write soon, love._

_Love always,_

_Mum._

⚡

The owl sits on the windowsill, resting after the long journey and refusing to leave until the recipient of the letter has arrived and opened it. On top of the crisp, green bedsheets, Ginny’s shaky handwriting having addressed the envelope to him, the letter rests.

It sits unopened on Albus’ bed in Rome. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Waiting to break a heart. Ruin a life. Not that Albus knows it, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge apologies for the wait between chapters. life happened and consumed a lot of my time!! <3
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


	5. italy

**30th July**

They step out of the Vanishing Cabinet into a wash of golden sunlight, cloaks swishing past them and wands hanging out of people’s pockets as they walk down the streets of _Il Posto Nascosto_. Hidden in the centre of Rome, accessed by twisting a lightbulb in a lantern hanging outside the back door of a Muggle restaurant, the wizarding community is a spider’s web of intricate shops, restaurants and houses.

The central point of _Il Posto Nascosto_ is an elegant fountain. The witch, sculpted out of fine marble, has her wand pointed in the air, cloak dancing around her ankles, with the water shooting from the tip and cascading around her. Passer-by’s, most likely tourists, have tossed coins into the bottom of the fountain. Scorpius tells Albus it’s a Muggle myth that throwing coins into fountains will grant them luck or a wish, and all Albus can think about is why nobody has gone in and stolen all the coins.

(Scorpius calls him cynical and gently elbows him. Albus considers throwing him into the fountain.)

They walk past Italian witches and wizards who beam at the two of them while idly levitating their grocery bags or their newspapers with their fingertips. The casual use of magic around here is immense, Albus thinks. He watches as a mother flicks her wand at her son and cleans up ice cream he’s dropped all over his shorts. A woman sat on a bench outside a bakery uses a spell to fix her knitting before charming the needles to do it all magically instead. Albus has never been one to like casual magic, mainly because he hasn’t been the _best_ at spells regardless, but even he is itching to take out his wand and send a few charms loose right now. He settles for just slipping his hand into his jacket pockets and rubbing his fingers over the cherry buds that decorate the lower part of his wand.

“Where are we staying, again?” Albus asks, jogging a few paces to catch up with Scorpius after getting distracted by all the magic around him.

“_Cottage Giglio_,” Scorpius says, pointing to a little house a short while away from them. “It’s a cottage that’s been renovated into a holiday house for people to rent. Two bedrooms, little kitchen. It’s meant to be really nice. The advert in the _Prophet_ had really nice photos.”

“You found out about this place from the _Prop_…” Albus trails off. “Wait. Did you say giglio?”

Scorpius glances at Albus. “Yeah. _Giglio_. Why?”

Albus smiles to himself, shrugging his shoulders as they open the gate to the cottage and walk up the zig-zag path to the door. “It means lily.”

“How do you know that?” Scorpius asks, smiling as he gently bumps into Albus’ shoulder.

“I… don’t actually know. I must’ve just come across it at some point,” Albus says. “Anyway, how do we get in?”

Scorpius pulls out his wand and casts a quiet _lumos_, crouching down in front of a key box next to the corner of the door. “The letter from the owner said it’s a verbal password, a bit like the Headmistress’ office back at Hogwarts. And according to the letter, the password is,” he says, leaning towards the box. “_Rum rosso._”

The door to the key box swings open, Scorpius grinning as he snatches the key. “Italian for Red Rum, apparently. I expect there will be an extensive alcohol cabinet in here.”

“Which we will definitely _not_ be touching.” Albus says, tripping over the step as they bundle through the door into the house.

Unlike most things they’ve come across so far, the building isn’t bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside. It’s all open plan, archways separating the rooms into a lounge, kitchen and dining area. The kitchen is quaint and small and retro, tiled floor and bright yellow wallpaper hidden behind the utilities and cupboards. Mismatched furniture decorates the living room, a dark black table surrounded by red and blue sofas, eclectic and sequin-covered pillows decorating the seats. A painting hangs over the fireplace, the mantle decorated with little cacti and succulents and other small plants. A tiny watering can sits off to the side, zipping up after a second to magically water the different plants situated around the entire room.

“This is… interesting.” Albus chuckles, kicking off his shoes by the front door before stepping into the house and taking a closer look. He picks up books from on the shelves, titles such as _The Gothic Witches and Wizards and How They Changed the World_ and _How the Boy Who Lived Lives: His Diet, Clothes, Lifestyle and Other Ways You Can Live Like the Chosen One_ peak his interest. He picks up the book about his dad and flicks through the first few pages, shutting it as soon as he skirts past a family photo of the Potter’s at the Quidditch World Cup.

“It is, isn’t it?” Scorpius asks, gently running his fingertip over the curve of the archway. “I sort of love it.”

Albus looks over at Scorpius and smiles. “Me, too.”

They hang up their jackets at the front door and venture around the rest of the small space. The bathroom is tucked underneath the stairs (Albus imagines his dad would hate this place), and the two bedrooms are situated opposite each other on the first floor. The first one, a small one with twin single beds, feels a bit musty. The walls are a bright pink with Quidditch decals decorating every single inch of space and the mattresses creak under their weight as they sit down and test them out.

The second bedroom, the master bedroom, is much more their style. Green. Green bedsheets, green curtains, and green accents on all the dark wooden furniture feel surprisingly like home to Albus as they walk around. The lamps on the bedside tables have a base shaped like a snake, the shade a jade colour with gold trimming. The handles on the doors, wardrobe and cabinets are little snitches, but the best part, in Albus’ opinion, is the window.

A bay window, green velvet cushions placed on the sill, overlooks _Il Posto Nascosto_. Albus opens it ever so slightly to let in some of the fresh air, perching on the edge of cushion to watch the world fly by. Quite literally, as people on broomsticks soar by and owls glide through the clouds with letters attached to their feet and parcels dangling from between their beaks. He can see two children playing Exploding Snap just on the outskirts of a park, and all Albus can think about is his collection of Snap cards back in his room. At home. He makes a mental note to pick up an Italian pack to take home for his mum and dad.

“Hey, Al,” Scorpius says from behind him. “There’s a letter on the bed for you.”

Albus turns. “Huh?” He asks, feet scratching on the carpet as he shuffles over. “What? How is there a letter?”

Scorpius shrugs. “No idea,” he says. “But there’s definitely an envelope and that is definitely your name.”

Albus leans over the bed and glances at the envelope. He tilts his head to the side as he reads his name, delicately picking it up and holding it in his palm. “This… this is my mum’s handwriting,” he murmurs. “Except not as neat. It’s, like, a bit wobbly, if that makes sense?”

“Well… maybe she was in a rush?” Scorpius asks. He crouches down by the side of the bed and starts taking out some of his shirts to hang up, muttering something about not wanting there to be any creases for when they head out on their next little adventures.

“I haven’t written to her in a while, though,” Albus says. “The last person I sent a letter to was my grandpa.”

Scorpius glances up at him. “Maybe she just wanted to check in, then? I’m sure it’s nothing, Al.” He says, going back to his bag and his clothes.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Albus chuckles. He walks back over to the bay windowsill, letting the beaming sun illuminate his view as he turns the envelope over in his hand and begins to serrate the edge. “Probably telling me off for not writing more often, to be honest.”

Scorpius laughs from the other side of the room, and Albus smiles at the sound as he gently pulls the parchment out of the envelope and begins to read the lines of writing.

And then he feels like he can’t breathe.

One moment the letter is in his hands, the next it falls from his grip and drifts gently, gently down to the ground. One moment he is seeing clearly, the next his vision is blurred with salty tears. One moment he is standing in a patch of sunlight, mind buzzing with the prospects of what he and Scorpius are going to get up to in Italy, the next he is stumbling to the ground, into shade, the words _your grandpa passed away today_ running over and over and over in his mind.

“Al?” Scorpius’ voice echoes. Like he’s a million miles away.

But Albus can’t answer. All he can do is stare at the piece of paper sitting a metre away from him, that one sentence burning in his brain and suffocating all of his senses. He can feel when Scorpius comes over to him, crouches in front of him, gently presses a hand to his cheek. He can see Scorpius’ mouth moving and his eyes clouded with concern but no sound seems to fill the room.

Albus can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t move. Just _can’t_.

He watches through foggy eyes as Scorpius reaches over to the letter and reads it himself, his grip tightening on the corner once he, too, gets to the damning sentence. Then Scorpius tucks the parchment back in the envelope and pulls Albus into his chest. He grips him with bone-crushing strength, but Albus can’t tell. The letter had already taken his breath from him, his stability from him, anything else would just feel meaningless.

Scorpius leans against the bed and Albus lays between his legs, head resting on Scorpius’ chest and their arms entangled in a bizarre arrangement that is uncomfortable, yet allows them to be as close as possible. Scorpius’ breathing is slow, calm, controlled. Albus’ is wavering, shivering between his lips and compressing in his chest as he allows his tears to finally fall and sobs to ricochet out.

And they just sit there. For days, months, years. Or for seconds. Albus can’t even tell. All he knows is that his family are falling apart and he is miles away, in the middle of Italy, not by their sides. All he knows is he spent the entirety of the preceding day mulling over in his own self-pity, causing arguments with people and making an entire mess of a perfectly good situation, while his family were crumbling at the seams.

He doesn’t know whether he feels more guilty or selfish. Or a twisted combination of both feelings; feelings that nip at his heart and drag tears from his eyes and make him dig his fingers into Scorpius’ wrists as he holds on for dear life.

⚡

“Albus…” Scorpius speaks for the first time in about an hour. The two of them had settled into the floor, lying still like statues that had been carved by the finest artist to depict the rawness of grief. At some point Scorpius had livened up to go and get them some glasses of water from downstairs, but for the most part they’d lay there, in silence, allowing time to pass and the world to keep turning around them.

Scorpius sits up slightly, fingers still rubbing small circles into Albus’ wrists. Albus turns his head to the side, looking up at Scorpius out the corner of his eye. “Yeah?” He murmurs.

“I think we should go get some fresh air,” Scorpius says. He buries his nose into Albus’ hair, breathing him in and holding him close. “Staying cooped up in here… it won’t do you any good.”

“I should go home,” Albus whispers. As he sits up he drags his hands over his eyes, voice croaky from an entire hour of utter despair. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be out here acting like nothing is happening. I should be _there_ with them, helping them.”

“You can’t think like that,” Scorpius says, gently tilting Albus’ chin up so they are looking at each other. “Your mum doesn’t want you to think like that either. You’re not out here pretending like nothing is happening. You’re out here living your life, Al.”

Albus shakes his head. “How… how am I supposed to just go on for the next couple of weeks, Scorp? This is supposed to be the most incredible trip and now this is going to be a burden on my mind. There’s no way I’ll be able to enjoy it.”

“Albus,” Scorpius murmurs. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“This isn’t fair,” Albus says, swallowing away a fresh burst of emotion. He doesn’t know how his mind still has the energy to feel sad, but it doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. “Why now? Why now, why my family?”

“I know, love,” Scorpius says. He forces Albus to drink some more water, brushing his fingers through Albus’ knotty hair. “And I also know that there’s nothing I can say to make you feel better, so I won’t patronise you with any of that. I just… I honestly think fresh air will do you good. I’m not sitting here and saying it’ll get better and the feelings will pass and that you can’t lie and feel sad all day. I’m just saying that being inside is suffocating, and that lying around feeling sad _outside_ will be better for you. There’s a park just over the street. There is a little league Quidditch game going on right now, but we can just sit under a tree and do exactly the same thing out there that we are doing in here.”

Albus takes a moment to consider what Scorpius is saying. Then he props himself up on his knees and holds his hands out to Scorpius. “Sure. You’re right,” he says, helping Scorpius to his feet. “Fresh air sounds good.”

⚡

They sit in the shade of a giant oak tree, jackets spread underneath them to act as blankets and cups of tea from a food stall balanced between their crossed legs. Albus watches the youth game of Quidditch taking place a little away from them while Scorpius reads beside him. Albus appreciates the silence, appreciates the way that Scorpius is being supportive but not overbearing.

But then he doesn’t know what else he expected from Scorpius. Scorpius who has gone through grief like this himself. Scorpius who had to navigate these feelings at a much younger age. Albus doesn’t know why he ever doubted that Scorpius would be the best person to be around in a situation like this.

Albus watches as the small children hover a couple of metres off the ground, parents stood around the makeshift pitch and watching with crossed fingers as they hope that their children don’t fall to the ground. He can’t see the snitch but he can hear the buzzing from where they sit; Albus supposes that they charm the snitch to fly slower and louder so the kids have a better chance of getting to grips with the rules and are able to spot it fluttering about. He remembers family Quidditch games at the Burrow when he and his siblings were younger. The Potter boys would be on separate teams, Lily usually siding with James, and their plethora of cousins would distribute themselves in different ways each time. Albus remembers being put in goal because he _really_ didn’t enjoy flying all too much and was only good at hovering in one spot.

Then he remembers the time he fell off his broom and cut his knee and went and spent the rest of the day with his grandfather looking at Muggle music boxes to take his mind off the pain, and Albus immediately looks away from the game after that.

So he looks to Scorpius instead.

And _Merlin_ does he feel awful. Twelve hours ago they were arguing in the middle of a rainy Genevan street over Albus’ poor decisions, and now they’re sat outside in Rome in silence because of Albus’ broken life. He forgets sometimes how tightly intertwined their lives are, and that everything that happens to Albus will impact Scorpius in some way, too. All Albus has to do is look at Scorpius’ rucksack, the one his grandpa bought for his best friend before they left, and he realises that this news would have hurt him, too. Just as the news about Astoria had shocked Albus to his core all those years ago.

“What are you reading?” Albus asks. He clears his throat after he speaks, sipping on his tea to hydrate himself. He’d clearly forgotten that with all the tears leaving his body the rest of himself would be parched, so words are a struggle.

Scorpius looks up from his book, holding it up so Albus can see. “_The Witches and Wizards of Italy and How They Changed the World as We Know It,_” he repeats. “Italy has a cool history, and I thought getting up to date with some of it would be good for when we head out to different places.”

Albus nods, glad for the change in tone of conversation. “Like what? What kind of history are we going to be encountering?”

Scorpius smiles. He uses a napkin as a bookmark and sets the book in front of him and Albus, flicking back a few pages. “Quite a lot. Italian witches and wizards used to be so chaotic, honestly. You know the Colosseum? The huge amphitheatre in the centre of Rome? It was almost destroyed by frantic Quidditch fans who were watching a broom race there,” he says, flicking to a different page. “To be honest, there’s only really one place we’re going where there isn’t magic history.”

“Which is…?” Albus asks.

“San Nicola Arcella. It’s a little town by the sea, with some nice beaches and loads of landscape. I know we hadn’t planned to go there but I just… thought after everything going on we could do with a quiet place. No magic. Just somewhere we can relax and listen to the waves all day.” Scorpius says, glancing nervously over at Albus.

Albus smiles. “That sounds really fun,” he says. “The whole magic part and the Muggle part.”

Scorpius nods, a flicker of a smile on his face. He looks at Albus and lets out a breath. “I love you so much.”

And that tightens Albus’ chest once more. He fiddles with his fingers as he looks into his lap and tries so, so hard to not cry. But it doesn’t work. He glances up to watch a family saunter past, a little girl chasing after a loose chocolate frog and the parents carrying bags full of robes and food and books. And he can’t breathe. Albus can’t breathe.

“Hey. Hey, Al,” Scorpius says. He crawls over the book and closes the space between them, pulling Albus into his chest once more. “Don’t try and keep it all in, you silly, sweet boy. Let yourself feel things.”

So Albus does. He lets himself feel and cry and break into tiny little shards of a human being. He crumbles to dust in Scorpius’ lap; Albus has no idea how he will ever become whole again, _if_ he will ever become whole again, but he can’t even begin to think about that right now. Can’t even look five minutes into the future, because his mind is trapped in the present. The present where everything feels bleak, feels hopeless. Feels different.

Albus looks to the sky. And he feels so, so alone.

⚡

“Does it get easier?” Albus asks. The sticky tear tracks on his cheeks glimmer painfully in the light of their bedside lamps, a few stray droplets falling into his mug of tea. The heat of the mug burns the palms of his hands, but he doesn’t mind the pain. It’s like a release from the pain in his mind; a materialisation of everything that’s been simmering in his head.

Scorpius looks at him. “Al… we don’t have to talk about this.”

“Does it get easier?” Albus repeats.

Scorpius sighs, then shakes his head ever so slightly. “No,” he says sadly. “It doesn’t. I had a lot of people tell me that it gets easier with each day that passes, but it gets worse…”

Albus looks up at the pause. Scorpius seems reluctant to continue, but when Albus gently places a hand on his knee and begins to trace delicate patterns over it with his knuckles he gets the strength to keep speaking.

“Because… because every day you slowly begin to forget more and more about them, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” Scorpius says, voice quiet and thick with emotion daring to overflow. “When they’re alive, or right after they go, you think there’s no way you’ll forget what they sound like. No way will you forget what they smell like, what they _feel_ like. You think the way they laugh will be in your mind forever. You think you’ll always know what their footsteps sound like when they’re walking up the stairs. But… you don’t. And you can’t capture those memories. You can take photographs of them, and you can look at those pictures and you’ll never forget what they look like. But voices… laughter… all the things you took for granted… you can’t capture those.

“The worst thing though, I think,” Scorpius continues, looking into his lap to try and hide the emotion coming over him. Albus doesn’t realise it at that moment, but this is technically the first time they’ve ever spoken about what it was like for Scorpius to lose Astoria. “Is when they fade from your daily routine, because you realise there’s no point trying to keep them there. Mum and I would go to the library every Saturday, and I did that for a while after she died. But then I thought… there’s no point. Dad and I would go to a bakery and get fresh rolls and flowers while mum made soup sometimes, and then we stopped doing that. Every morning, when she was ill, I would wake up at seven and make her heart-shaped toast and a glass of water and take it up to her in bed. When all those little things stop happening, that’s when it gets worse. That is what time can never heal. Time can heal the initial pain of losing someone, but then you’re overcome by a much stronger sense of _longing_. I don’t grieve my mother anymore, I long for her. I yearn for her. And that feeling never gets easier.

“Like right now, out here. I want nothing more than to have her alive so I can send her postcards. So I can get her perfume from Parisian shops and jewellery from Italian market stalls. I wish I had her so I could tell her about my life. I long for the companionship. For the sound of her voice when she would be happy for me. For the feel of her fingers as she’d brush my hair. It never gets easier, but you’re expected to deal with it because time is passing and that’s supposed to make everything okay… There is nothing, _nothing_, more difficult than losing a family member. And I can’t tell you it’ll get easier, Al, because I don’t believe it ever does. But you just… you begin to mould your life around the grief. You don’t let it overcome you. It will always be a part of you, you will never lose it permanently, and sometimes you may momentarily forget about it, but it will always be there. And we just… cope. We think about them, we love them, and we cope. And we can cope together. _You_ can get through this, Albus. Because you are strong, and you are wonderful, and you have the light of Arthur Weasley burning so bright in there,” Scorpius says, gently prodding over Albus’ heart. “It might never get easier, but it will transform you into someone you never knew possible. You may feel weak and empty right now, but the strength it will take for you to get over these hurdles and make it through the next few weeks… that will make you the _fullest_ and _strongest_ version of yourself imaginable. That’s what you have to think about.”

Then Scorpius goes quiet. And Albus can’t summon a response worthy enough to counter the powerful words his best friend just gave him. Albus sips on his tea for a moment or two, the late night buzz of wizarding-Rome fluttering past their open window, and Scorpius wipes away his tears with the sleeve of James’ _Barcelona Bicorn’s_ jumper.

“Scorp…” Albus finally breaks the silence.

Scorpius looks up from his lap, the light illuminating the red curves of his eyes and the pools of tears hovering over his waterline. “Yeah?”

Albus swallows thickly. “Do you… do you not remember what your mum’s voice sounded like?”

Scorpius looks straight back down. Albus watches as he squeezes his eyes shut and allows a few more tears to trickle down his already damp cheeks. Then Scorpius shakes his head.

Albus reaches over between the space and picks up Scorpius’ mug, setting them both on the bedside table. He closes the gap between them to almost nothing after that, cautiously looking Scorpius up and down before pulling him in for a tight embrace.

Shining like gold under the low lighting of the bedroom, the stars outside and the world at their feet slowly crumbling to pieces, the two of them hug, and hug, and hug, until they fall asleep. And only in sleep do they feel free from the burdens of life, but only in life can they feel the uncontrollable and utterly desirable presence of Astoria Malfoy and Arthur Weasley.

⚡

Albus wakes in the middle of the night. He wasn’t really sleeping, he doesn’t think. He lay there with his eyes closed but his body refused to let him drift away completely. So he stayed motionless, snuggling the duvet to his chin, stuck in a cycle of almost nodding off and being slung right back into the heart of his most painful emotions.

He turns onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. The sounds of late-night Italy simmer past the window Scorpius left slightly ajar. Some giggles from beneath them, some owls hooting as they tumble into the night sky. Everything is at peace. Everyone is at peace.

Except Albus.

He looks at Scorpius, one arm tucked behind his head and the other balanced over his chest, hair tousled and strewn all over his face. Albus sighs. He needs a hug. Preferably a hug from his mum or his dad. A Ginny Potter hug would soothe everything right now; the way she manages to smooth her thumb right over the curves of his spine to calm his breathing, the way she breathes in the smell of his shampoo and presses delicate kisses to the top of his head.

Albus needs a hug.

He looks back at Scorpius, and decides to just do it.

Albus shuffles a little closer to Scorpius, lifting the arm resting over Scorpius’ chest and wrapping it around himself instead. He cuddles into Scorpius, the way he always sleeps on his side fitting perfectly to how Scorpius always sleeps on his back, and sinks into the hug. Scorpius may not know he’s hugging Albus, but that doesn’t bother him.

Albus closes his eyes, immediately soothed by the warmth of Scorpius, and allows himself to attempt to sleep again.

(Just before he dozes off, Albus feels Scorpius tighten the inadvertent hug. So, perhaps Scorpius was aware. That makes Albus feel a little bit _more_ soothed, too.)

⚡

**31st July**

_Dad,_

_Happy birthday! Just in case you thought I would have forgotten – I haven’t. _

_I can’t imagine that this birthday will be a particularly pleasant one, with everything that has been going on at home. But despite it all, you do deserve to have a nice day. As nice as it could possibly be. I wish more than anything that I could be there to celebrate with you, and just to be with you in general. I would be lying if I said the last twenty-four hours haven’t been impossibly difficult. There isn’t much stopping me from giving up on this trip entirely and just coming straight back home._

_But I know you and mum would get mad at me for not seeing it through, and I’m sure Grandpa wouldn’t have wanted it either. Oh, by the way, please tell mum I did get her letter and to not send me Grandpa’s reply. I think I’ll save it until I get back home. _

_Anyway, back to the point. I miss you, and I really do hope you enjoy your day. It might not be as fun or exciting as other birthday’s, and there will probably be a lot of bittersweet sadness around the whole day, but this is your day. And you should enjoy it. Because you, Dad, are an amazing person. You are full of love and wisdom and light, and I love you so very much. _

_And I’m glad you’re my Dad. _

_So happy birthday. I can’t wait to see you soon._

_Love always,_

_Albus_

⚡

“Okay,” Albus says as he walks out from the little owl hut in the park and joins Scorpius by the gate. “I’ve sent that off.”

Scorpius smiles. “Isn’t it so cool how they have this here? I didn’t realise owls as pets were uncommon in Italy. But having these little huts… stations… it’s so interesting.”

Albus nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they head out the park and start their walk towards the way out from the wizarding community. Their plan is to take it easy today; no extensive travelling and no super deep and intellectually challenging places. Scorpius had suggested just taking a day to walk around Rome and see some of the local places instead of having to dedicate all their energy to hopping around the country.

Albus can see Scorpius constantly looking at him out the corner of his eye, checking to see if he’s okay. When they woke up earlier in the morning, limbs entangled and not a millimetre of space between them, Albus had been relieved when neither of them moved. They stayed like that for a while, Scorpius just holding onto him until Albus felt like he could tackle the world again.

Albus had been disappointed to wake up still feeling empty inside. He didn’t know what he had expected, honestly. He knew things wouldn’t resolve with one night’s sleep, and that the anguish from this would last for a while, but he expected a bit of feeling to have come back to him by now.

But, no. He still feels like he is walking on air, and not in a good way. Walking with no purpose, no destination. He’s surrounded by the most beautiful buildings and the most beautiful boy in the world but he can’t seem to appreciate it at all.

“Hey,” Scorpius gently knocks their knuckles together. “What do you fancy for breakfast?”

Albus shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I’m not that hungry, to be honest.”

Scorpius gently shakes his head. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Albus repeats.

Scorpius gently takes Albus’ wrist and stops them in their tracks. “I’m not allowing you to starve yourself, Al. You may not feel hungry, but when your body somewhat starts feeling normal again it’ll hit you like a bag of bricks.”

Albus lets out a breath. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Scorpius says. “Coffee and breakfast skewers? I heard they’re really good.”

Albus nods. “That sounds great.”

⚡

Somehow, as the two of them walk up to the Colosseum, Albus’ problems feel significantly smaller. Perhaps it’s the beauty of the place or the sheer grandeur of the structure. Albus isn’t sure, but as he trails ever so slightly behind Scorpius, eyes dragging over the massive building before them, he feels momentarily calm. As if everything is okay, because he is so small and this _thing_ is so big.

Albus can’t quite wrap his head around how something like this exists. How people, with minimal technology, were able to build something so exquisite and immaculate. Wizards he would understand, but Muggles? Albus feels himself developing more respect for Muggles whenever he comes across something like the Colosseum.

As he looks he can never take it all in at once. The remains are so utterly overwhelming that Albus has to stop in his tracks to observe it for a moment. The beautiful curved perimeter and the delicately carved glassless windows that peer out to every angle of Rome. Little trees dot about the space to add some greenery to the area, but the Colosseum commandeers the attention of everyone in the local vicinity. Every set of eyes are glued to the curves and the details of the structure before them, cameras clicking and voices intermingling as people converse about the spectacle before them. From Albus’ side Scorpius snaps a couple of photos of the Colosseum (and of Albus in front of the Colosseum), and the two of them stand shoulder to shoulder as they stare up, eyes full of wonder.

“You’d think being a wizard and all nothing would ever be able to surprise me anymore,” Albus says, not looking away from the sight before him. “But, somehow, things still do.”

“This place puts Hogwarts to shame, doesn’t it?” Scorpius murmurs. “I got tingles looking at school, but I’m getting full blown body-binding amazement staring at this,”

“I just don’t know how people _did_ it. How they thought up the design and executed it. I know they all say that Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I just can’t even imagine it being built over the span of hundreds of years.” Albus says.

Scorpius glances at him. “That saying…” he says.

“What? Rome wasn’t built in a day?” Albus looks to Scorpius.

Scorpius nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s… a good saying. It just reminds you to take your time, doesn’t it? Take your time, let your life work out how it needs to work out. Don’t rush yourself…”

Albus looks to the sky. _Take his time_.

“Yeah…” Albus says, resting his head on Scorpius’ shoulder. “Take your time. I think we both could do well remembering that.”

They stay and admire the exterior for a little while longer, picking up a Muggle guide to try and get the best understanding possible about why it was built and why it is still around. As they tag on the end of a guided tour around the interior, Scorpius keeps them at the back of the group to give his own running commentary instead. He gently holds onto the sleeve of Albus’ shirt, pointing out particular details and murmuring something about a specific engraving that suggests a certain group of wizards were here in the past.

Albus makes Scorpius stand by a railing so he can take a photo of him for once; Scorpius playfully frowns for one of the photos before doing as Albus asks. Then an older couple walk past and offer to take one of the two of them, and Albus wastes no time walking up to Scorpius and resting his elbow on Scorpius’ shoulder. The woman with the camera smiles from behind the viewfinder, tilting her head in mild confusion as she hands the camera back to a much too giggly Albus and Scorpius.

As they walk around this great structure Albus feels free from the worries that had been plaguing his mind for the last day. He allows himself to smile and breathe and look at Scorpius and love while feeling loved, too. He hangs onto Scorpius’ sleeve without worry about what message it could be communicating to Scorpius. He doesn’t flush or flinch as Scorpius occasionally tugs on his hand to show him something and their fingers curl around each other for a few seconds.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

“Can you believe this place was almost destroyed by Quidditch fans? Imagine this beautiful place being left in a right state by a bunch of fanatical wizards.” Scorpius chuckles as he sips on their shared bottle of water.

Albus looks at him. “What? Really?”

“I told you in the park yesterday,” Scorpius says, pointing to the upper tiers of the Colosseum. “There was this race between two fliers, and this place was set at the finish line for the race. First to get here wins, obviously. And so a bunch of Quidditch, flying and general broomstick fans came here to watch and support their chosen flier. The got into a huge scrap and set off an explosion and destroyed loads of columns and much of the structure. Orabella Nuttley, one of the most amazing witches ever, in my opinion, fixed it with a charm she made. Managed to put most things back to place before the Muggles found out. Little bits are still off. You can see gaps and cracks in some places, but she stopped Rome falling into mass confusion and anger.”

Albus smiles. “Of course wizards nearly destroyed this,” he says. “They have no sense of right or wrong, do they?”

“Nope,” Scorpius says. “Places like this… that make you feel so small in comparison… should be so intimidating. So terrifying. But I love them. It sort of grounds me, I think. Everytime I get overwhelmed thinking about all the magic inside me and all the things going on in my life, I imagine being somewhere like this. High up, an ant in comparison to the size of the whole thing. And everything settles. Because even though everything going on may feel like the end of the world, in reality it’s not. In reality I’m a tiny, miniscule part of this world. And while it may weigh heavy on my heart, it’ll never destroy me completely…”

Albus looks at him.

“Oh, sorry,” Scorpius flushes, pulling his cap further over his hair to try and hide the colour on his cheeks. “That was a tangent.”

“No,” Albus shrugs. “It was wonderful.”

Scorpius smiles ever so slightly. “Really?”

Albus smiles more. “Really.”

⚡

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Scorpius says as they step in to the Sistine Chapel.

Albus disagrees. He thinks Scorpius is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life, but he doesn’t think now is the time for him to admit that. So he just nods in agreement. “Same,” he lies. “I think this city is the best so far.”

“I told you.” Scorpius chuckles.

Albus drags his eyebrows together. “Told me what?”

“That you’d keep saying every place we visit is the best. You said it in Geneva, too.” Scorpius smiles.

“Well, I take it back about Geneva.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, no,” Albus says. “I’d say that nearly destroying our seven year friendship is a pretty bad thing.”

“Stop,” Scorpius murmurs, gently pushing Albus further into the chapel. “You didn’t nearly destroy our friendship.”

“Why are you lying?”

Scorpius huffs. “I’m _not_.”

“You are!”

Scorpius gently flicks his nose. “We had an argument. Of which we’ve had many before. I would hardly call that you nearly destroying our entire friendship,” he says. “We argue at least once a month. It’s what we do, Al. I’m pretty sure we argued in every single room at Hogwarts. And in every single room at both our houses.”

Albus pauses. “Maybe we argue too much…”

Scorpius smiles and shakes his head. “I like arguing with you. Sort of,” he says. “You know neither of us are too good at talking about our feelings. At least when we bicker we get everything into the air and can actually talk about stuff. Without holding anything back.”

“Right…” Albus murmurs. “Not holding anything back.”

Scorpius looks at him. “What? You keeping secrets from me, Potter?”

Albus laughs. _If only you knew_. “Course I’m not,” he says. “I would never lie to you.”

“Good,” Scorpius says. “Lie to me and I’ll hex you in your sleep.”

Albus gently pokes Scorpius’ side, his heart fluttering ever so slightly as Scorpius jumps, giggles and grabs onto Albus’ hand instead. “I’d like to see you try.”

Scorpius just shakes his head, squeezes Albus’ hand, and walks them further into the chapel. Albus stares at the ceiling, taking in the breath taking artwork that curves above them, stretching into the sky and falling back down to Earth. The detail, the colours, the _composition_. Albus doesn’t know why he’s still surprised that so many talented people have existed in this world. But he is.

“Merlin…” Albus murmurs.

“I know.” Scorpius says, tone of his voice as timid and bewildered as Albus’. They both crane their necks up, turning and moving to take in each different person painted above them. How the painter got up there without levitation charms, Albus will never know.

“Doesn’t it make you feel so inadequate?” Albus asks. “Like… people are able to produce things like this, have endless talent in their fingertips. And you just… can’t.”

“That’s too cynical, Al,” Scorpius says. “I prefer to think of it as a reminder that there are beautiful things in this world, and that beautiful things can come from a multitude of different places. From the fingers of some, the mouth of others. You can paint beauty, speak beauty, _have_ beauty. Paintings like this are just a reminder of how powerful we as humans are.”

Albus smiles at the back of Scorpius’ head. “You are utterly unreal, you know that?”

“Unreal?” Scorpius repeats.

Albus nods. “Yeah. Unreal,” he says. “Just… I can’t believe you exist.”

Scorpius flushes. Again. He’s doing that a lot today, Albus notices. “Want to light a candle?” He asks.

“A candle?”

Scorpius nods. “Yeah. For… you know,” he looks up, then back to Albus. “For your grandpa.”

“Oh…” Albus says. “Sure.”

So they walk up to the front of the chapel. Scorpius hands him a match, and Albus chooses a candle with the longest wick to light, so it will burn for as long as possible. He watches as the flame explodes into life, watches as the wick begins to brown and burn and shrink. Albus watches. And thinks.

Thinks about his grandpa. Thinks about Scorpius, who lights a candle beside him. Thinks about Astoria, who must have a thousand candles dedicated to her. Thinks about how many candles Albus will light for his grandpa over the space of his life, if he will ever catch up to the number Scorpius has done.

Sweet Scorpius.

Albus drapes his arm around Scorpius’ shoulders and pulls him into his side, and Scorpius melts at the touch. So the two of them stand there, Albus and Scorpius, watching their candles burn. Wondering how their lives have become so twisted, so painful, yet still so full of love and surprise.

⚡

They get back to their cottage late in the evening; the sun has just sunk down and the sky turned from a blend of navy blue and deep indigo with streaks of orange swimming among the clouds to sheer black. The stars hover above them, winking as Albus tries to make out some constellations. He holds onto Scorpius’ belt loop as he gazes, not wanting to get left behind as Scorpius leads them through the shadowy streets.

When they get back to their room and Albus spots the letter on his bedside table he freezes in the doorframe. He wouldn’t go as far to say he had forgotten about the contents of the letter, that wouldn’t have been possible, but he definitely hadn’t allowed his mind to wander long enough to think about it in depth.

He listens as Scorpius busies himself downstairs in the kitchen, the sound of ceramic clashing together while he makes them some tea. Albus shuffles over to his side of the bed, crossing his legs underneath him as he picks up the envelope and pulls the letter out once more. He drags his fingertips over his mum’s handwriting, noticing how some of her words are blurred or smudged. He outlines some of the words, imagining her hand scribing them and trying to envision her warmth and her presence and her light.

Albus doesn’t notice when Scorpius comes up the stairs and shuffles into their room. He hardly notices him setting their mugs down or drawing the curtains together. Albus only notices when the mattress weighs down beside him and there’s an arm curled around his shoulders and fingers gently brushing through his hair.

Scorpius presses his nose against Albus’ shoulder, using his free hand to gently pull the letter from between Albus’ too tight grip. He folds the parchment back up and slides it into the envelope once more, and Albus lets him.

“It hurts so much,” Albus murmurs. “My heart, my body. Everything. It hurts so much.”

“I know,” Scorpius says, pressing a kiss to Albus’ shoulder and tightening his grip of him. “It’s going to hurt for a while.”

Albus blinks; some tears fall. “This is… so shit.”

“I know,” Scorpius repeats. “Drink some tea.” He says, reaching over to the bedside table to exchange the letter for a mug.

Albus sips. The water burns his tongue and simmers uncomfortably in his stomach, and he tries to tell himself to not enjoy the pain even though it does subsidise the ache his heart.

“We can always go home earlier if you want, Al. We don’t have to stay out here for the last two weeks,” Scorpius says. “I know you think that would disappoint your family, but I think they’d much rather you be happy and do what makes you feel better than stay out here and feel worse.”

“I…” Albus says. “I can’t.”

“Okay.” Scorpius says, soft.

Albus drags his hands over his eyes. “I can do this. Italy. Greece. I’m not going to give up just because of this,” he says. “Where are we going tomorrow?”

“Venice.”

Albus nods.

“It’ll be lovely. There are loads of sailing tours we can do. Venice has a wonderful history of spell-making and charms. There’s a tour you can do of all the places where wizards and witches have attempted to make a spell that didn’t go to plan. Burn marks that can’t be fixed, upside down trees. It’s fascinating,” Scorpius says. “And tranquil. Relaxing. I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

“Okay,” Albus says. “It sounds good. Manageable.”

“Cool.”

“Scorpius…” Albus says just as Scorpius goes to stand up.

Scorpius looks at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Scorpius smiles. “I love _you_,” he says. “Now finish your tea so we can sleep. I’m absolutely exhausted.”

⚡

**1st August**

“Can I borrow this?”

Albus looks up from his shoe laces and peeks over the bed at Scorpius stood in front of the mirror. He’s holding up one of Albus’ t-shirts, a _Rolling Gnomes_ band shirt he’d picked up from a second-hand shop a few years ago, dangling it from his fingers so Albus can see it.

“I’m in the mood for something baggy and all the clothes I have are pretty tight,” Scorpius says. “Besides, your shirts always smell really nice.”

Albus tilts his head to the side, looking momentarily away to get the blush threatening to blossom over his cheeks under control. “Sure. You know you don’t have to ask my permission, right? In fact, I’m positive you never asked if you could wear the Bicorns jumper a couple weeks ago.”

Scorpius shrugs as he pulls the shirt on, turning back to the mirror so he can tuck it into his jeans. “Details, details,” he says. “_The Rolling Gnomes_. I feel like I should know this band, the name rings a bell.”

“I have a couple of their posters in my room. And you’ve probably seen me wear that shirt about a billion times,” Albus says, brushing his hands over his trousers after he finishes tying his shoes and can stand back up. “They’re a good band. Very vintage. Were more of a thing when our parents were kids.”

“Ah, of course,” Scorpius says. Albus watches as he weaves a belt, this time one with a lightning bolt buckle, through the loops of his jeans. “Your bedroom. I forget how many things you have on your walls. Anyway – how does it look?”

Scorpius spins on the spot, fiddling with the collar of the shirt until he deems it satisfactory. Albus smiles; something about Scorpius in his clothes, the way the shirt is slightly baggier than normal but still fits his personality perfectly, makes Albus feel weak in the knees.

“It looks wonderful,” Albus says. “You look wonderful. You always do.”

“I like having you around,” Scorpius smiles. They bump hips as they walk past each other, Albus going to pick up their rucksacks and Scorpius pulling the duvet into place to make the bed before they leave. “You flatter me way more than I deserve.”

Albus rolls his eyes, unable to bite back the chuckle that falls from his lips. “Zip it, Malfoy,” he says. “And hurry up. You’re taking forever, and I’m absolutely starving.”

“You can’t rush perfection, Al,” Scorpius says, gently flicking Albus’ nose as he comes up to his side and takes his bag from him. “I mean, come on, it took your parents years to create you.”

And… _wait_.

Albus goes to look at Scorpius but he’s already out the room and going down the stairs, calling after Albus so they can leave together. So Albus lets the thought go. For now, anyway.

⚡

If Venice were a person, Albus thinks, it would be Scorpius.

As they apparate to a hidden alleyway and step out into the vibrant streets of Venice all Albus can notice is the effortless, timeless beauty it has. Canals wind between the buildings like little snakes investigating every nook and cranny of its environment. Colourful buildings line the edge of the water, stretching high into the sky and narrowly filling the limited space the city boasts. Windows overlook the shimmering canals, boats drift past with tourists tossing waves and salutations in their direction. Venice feels friendly yet shy. Everything is hidden; small and compact yet full of wonder and treasure when the details are noticed. The architecture is overwhelmingly gothic and Albus can’t take his eyes off the delicate homes and churches and other structures they pass as the two of them try to find somewhere to get some food.

Venice is Scorpius. Bright yet shy, bubbling at the seams with energy and information and life but being so tightly knit and constructed that it takes a while to truly understand what is going on. Albus can envision Scorpius living here, coming to life here. Slipping among the shadows and walking the fragile boundaries between pavement and water, Scorpius would fit perfectly among the tranquillity of the place. Would thrive surrounded by the history and the air and the vibrancy.

Albus decides right there and then that he loves Venice.

“This place looks nice.” Scorpius says, stopping them in front of a café a little walk away from the edge of the Grand Canal,

Albus sits down at the table closest to the window while Scorpius orders their food; he watches the world pass by, watches as the tourists trickle past with cameras around their necks and tan-lines splitting their skin into dual-toned canvases. He picks up a napkin and begins to fold it into an origami bird without even realising, his fingers pressing the creases and twisting different folds to construct the beak out of the flimsy paper. He stands the bird up on the table once he is done, pointing it towards where Scorpius will soon be sitting as if there are now three people in their group.

Scorpius shuffles over a few moments later, tray full of fruit and coffee clattering onto the table as he sits down. A few loose coins tumble from Scorpius’ grip and scatter over the table, their fingers gently brushing as they both go to collect them.

“Thanks,” Scorpius smiles, pocketing the change once Albus hands over his collection. “Are you feeling any better this morning?”

Albus shrugs. He takes a few moments to add some sugar to his coffee and stir the drink until a little whirlpool dances around the centre of the mug. “I think so? I’m not sure. It’s still right at the front of my mind, but it’s almost like my body is so exhausted from the last couple of days it doesn’t have the energy to grieve right now.”

Scorpius nods along as Albus talks, dishing out the fruit skewers between the two of them. He looks with concern at Albus while he listens, staring right into his eyes with desperate intent. “Well… it’s been a very dramatic few days. From the last day in Switzerland… to this now… to having to travel the country. It’s a lot to handle.”

“But I’m handling it, somehow,” Albus chuckles. “Merlin knows how. If this had happened a few years ago I definitely would’ve just crumbled.”

“You’re different, now. You’re not that same Albus. Well, you are. But you’ve changed in positive ways. You’re right; if this had happened in fifth year, or even sixth, I don’t think you would have come out of the dark place you were in a couple of days ago. Obviously you’re still somewhat there, but you’re not letting yourself get stranded. Which is amazing, Al,” Scorpius says. He reaches over the space of the table to gently drum his fingers over Albus’ wrist. “I honestly don’t know how you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Living.” Scorpius says.

Albus pauses. “Oh,” he murmurs, recalling the days following Astoria’s death where Scorpius was a shadow of a human being. “Well… the situations are different.”

“Loss is loss, Al. There’s no, like, spectrum of loss.”

“You were a kid, Scorp. Nobody expected you to jump right back into the swing of things.”

“And you’re not a kid, still?” Scorpius asks.

Albus sighs. “We are both kids,” he says. “I wish you were kinder to yourself. You told me the other day to take my time, to let myself grieve how I need to grieve. If only you took your own advice.”

“Haven’t I had time, Al? It’s been _years_.”

“She was your _mum_, Scorpius,” Albus says. “My dad always talks about his parents. All the time. Every single day. There is no way to properly come to terms with that kind of loss. I know you say there is no spectrum of loss, but every situation is different.”

“I know,” Scorpius says. “I do. I promise. I’m just… in a weird head space at the minute.”

Albus watches as Scorpius sits back in his chair and takes a long drink from his coffee. “You love everyone so fiercely, Scorp,” he says. “You would be utterly unstoppable if you loved yourself even half as much.”

Scorpius smiles sadly at him. He shrugs and eats a strawberry off his skewer, and Albus thinks this conversation isn’t quite over. Not yet, anyway.

⚡

The man sailing their gondola is called Romeo, and Albus loves it. There are other things he loves about the situation, mainly the fact that Romeo has his shirt unbuttoned so the canal breeze keeps blowing it behind him and that he has sun-induced freckles all over his skin, but the name is a highlight. They studied Shakespeare in Muggle Studies towards the end of their fifth year, so Albus truly feels like he’s living some romantic dream right now (if he ignores what actually happens at the end of the play, which he gladly will).

They have the boat to themselves. Scorpius lounges over one section of seats, feet dangling just over the edge of the boat and arms crossed behind his head as he looks up at the buildings they sail past. Albus sits cross-legged between Scorpius and Romeo, bottle of lemonade glued to his hand as he sips and watches and lets the gentle Italian breeze flow through his hair. Albus had expected the boat trip to feel claustrophobic and vulnerable given the fact the canal isn’t too wide and there are buildings towering over them on either side, but he feels incredibly free. With sweet Scorpius to his left and _great_ Romeo to his right, Albus is having a wonderful time.

And Romeo is definitely a few years older than them so there is no chance of a revival of the Wyatt situation. A win-win in Albus’ mind.

“So you do this every day?” Albus asks, squinting as he looks up at Romeo.

Romeo smiles down at him. Albus swoons a little. The more Albus stares the more he realises how much Romeo looks like Goçalo Flores, and suddenly his fascination with their captain makes a bit more sense.

“Multiple times, _tesoro_,” Romeo says. “It is difficult work, physical work, but very rewarding. And you make many new friends whenever you set sail.”

“So we’re friends?” Albus asks. He feels Scorpius gently kick him in the back and can hear little bubbles of laughter coming from his general direction.

“Indeed, Al_bus_,” Romeo says. Albus wishes he had one of those Muggle recording devices so he can record the way it sounds when Romeo says his name. “_Siamo amici_.”

Albus stares blankly at him.

“We are friends,” Romeo says. “_Siamo amici_ means we are friends.”

“Cool.” Albus smiles.

Suddenly there is movement behind him and minty breath is fluttering over his neck. As Albus looks to his side Scorpius is right there. Their noses almost touch, and Scorpius rests his chin on Albus’ shoulder. Albus has no idea what sort of angle Scorpius has contorted his body to in order to lean over in such away, but he’s not going to question it.

“You’re not subtle at all.” Scorpius whispers.

Albus looks from Scorpius to Romeo and back again. “What are you going on about?”

“Is this your thing, then? Non-English men? First it was the annoying American and now it’s the _definitely _too-old Italian. Was there anyone I missed in France and Spain?” Scorpius teases.

Albus rolls his eyes and gently knocks his glass against Scorpius’ nose. “I don’t have a thing for non-English men, you dork,” Albus says. Quite the opposite, he thinks. But he could never admit that. “I think you’re trying to push my buttons so you embarrass me in front of the kind Italian man.”

“And I think you should wipe the drool from your chin before you make a mess all over this lovely gondola.” Scorpius grins. He takes Albus’ lemonade from him and takes a long drink, pressing the glass against his forehead to cool himself down.

“So you two,” Romeo interrupts their little conversation, staring inquisitively at the way the two of them have slotted together in the most peculiar way on the floor of his boat. “Students?”

“We just graduated,” Scorpius says. “And are taking a little time out before starting careers.”

Romeo hums. “What careers?”

“Um,” Scorpius says. Albus can almost see the cogs turning in his mind as he tries to remember the Muggle alternative to Healer. “I want to help people… in hospitals?”

“Ah! Doctor?”

“_Yes!_” Scorpius grins. “Doctor.”

Romeo smiles and nods. “Interesting,” he says, switching his gaze to Albus. “And you?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Albus says. Partly because he still doesn’t really know where he’s heading with his life but also because he melts under Romeo’s gaze and can hardly remember how to form coherent sentences. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Well, that’s fine, too. You are young. There is no rush,” Romeo says. They glide effortlessly past another full boat, and Romeo and the other captain wave at each other. “I think these days there is much pressure on young ones to make decisions so early in life. They do not get chance to live, because they are so worried about work and jobs. When there are more important things in life. Adventuring, love, enjoyment.”

Albus melts; half because of the heat and half because of how incredibly charming Romeo is. Scorpius gently prods his side.

“I chose to live instead of worrying about work, and I think I am one of the happiest men in the world,” Romeo continues. “Did I ever plan on doing this as a job? Sailing people on boats? No. Never. But I would not change it for the world, because it gives me money to spend loving the people I care about, seeing the things I want to see. It lets me breathe.”

“And you get to make lots of friends.” Albus smiles.

Romeo grins at him. “I do,” he says. “You two are so radiant. I hope the world doesn’t break you.”

Scorpius tenses behind him. He goes to pull his weight off Albus’ shoulder but Albus stops him. He reaches up to grab Scorpius’ wrist, holding him in place. They glide a little further along the canal; the buildings blend into a kaleidoscope of colours, sweet rainbows towering above them. The sky is bright and the journey is smooth. Quite the opposite of their lives, Albus thinks.

“So do I.” Albus says.

Scorpius softens once more. He crumbles back into the curve of Albus’ neck, his breaths trickling over Albus’ skin and mingling with the sweltering Italian heat that surrounds them. They’ll get there eventually, Albus thinks. Eventually.

⚡

Albus feels like he leaves part of his heart in Romeo’s gondola. He wants to quote a line of _Romeo and Juliet_ to him as he and Scorpius dismount the boat and touch secure ground with the soles of their shoes, but he can feel Scorpius’ gaze drilling into his temples so he decides against it. Instead, they tip Romeo a few extra euros and promise that if they ever return to Venice they will look for his boat. It takes Albus a little while to snap out of his momentary infatuation with the random Italian stranger.

But he doesn’t have to sulk over the separation for too long when he has Scorpius at his side.

“Look!” Scorpius beams, dragging them over to the edge of a park. Albus drags his eyebrows together as he sees what they are approaching: a bed of flowers where every single one is growing upside down. Or, rather, every single one has been rotated a hundred and eighty degrees yet still lives. The roots are exposed to the sun and the petals are pressed to the ground, but the flowers aren’t dead. “It’s one of those artefacts I was telling you about earlier. Where a witch or wizard has tried creating a spell that hasn’t worked, and that they can’t undo.”

“I mean… what sort of spell would someone be trying to make that would result in this?” Albus chuckles. He watches as Scorpius crouches with the camera in his hand, snapping a few photos of all the different flowers from every possible angle.

Scorpius shrugs from the floor. “A flower duplication charm? A flower watering charm? I’m not sure. Or maybe a resuscitation charm. Perhaps the flowers were dead so they tried their Healing spell, and it just didn’t work,” he guesses. “So interesting.”

Albus smiles and shakes his head when he knows Scorpius isn’t looking at him. “You are… one of a kind, you know that?”

“You tell me so frequently that I’m beginning to believe you.” Scorpius says, gently bumping into Albus’ side as he stands up.

“So Venice is all about spell making, then?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods, grabbing Albus’ sleeve to walk them further alongside the winding canals and down the narrow roads that make up the composition of Venice. Everywhere they look there is some new secret road Albus hadn’t noticed before. Little shops pop out of nowhere, birds bathe in the canals and flutter past without Albus even realising they were there. He loves Venice.

“Most new spells that appear often originate from Venice. I’m not sure why, or how exactly this place became the home to spell-making, but that’s just how it is,” Scorpius says, fiddling with the buckle on his belt. “I think because it is a comparatively smaller place to others in Italy, and the layout is so precise and narrow that testing spells in plain sight is easy.”

“I just don’t understand how the Ministry here doesn’t, like, try and control everyone. I mean, surely leaving upturned flowers and trees everywhere will become rather confusing for Muggles?” Albus queries. He steps up onto the ledge between the canal and the path, grabbing onto Scorpius’ hand for support so he can walk the fragile line without risk of falling in. “Can you imagine if we tried any of this back home? I’m pretty my Aunt would set the full force of the Ministry to attack us.”

Scorpius grins up at him. “Clearly Italy have weaker restrictions. I also feel like it would be pretty difficult to control exactly who is making spells when it has been so engrained in Venetian culture for ages. It adds to the charm of the place, don’t you think? Tourists find the upturned flowers amazing, so I think that as long as the spells don’t hurt anyone, the Ministry here won’t care.”

“Ugh,” Albus sighs. “I love Venice.”

Scorpius gently squeezes his hand when Albus wobbles ever so slightly. “Are you just saying that? Or do you genuinely love it here?”

“No, seriously. I really like this place.”

“I thought you’d enjoy Venice,” Scorpius says. He grips Albus with his other hand as he jumps from one ledge to the other, keeping him upright. “Please be careful. If you fall into the canal I’m not going in with you.”

“I am being careful.”

“The words Albus Potter and careful don’t belong in the same sentence,” Scorpius murmurs. “Forgive me for having no faith in you.”

Albus gently flicks Scorpius’ cheek. “You’re so rude to me.”

Scorpius gasps in faux shock. “Hey!” He says, playfully pushing Albus slightly. “I am not. I’m positively wonderful to you.”

“You just said you have no faith in me to be careful on the ledge,” Albus says, carefully pinching the skin on Scorpius’ wrist. “That is being rude.”

“That, my love,” Scorpius asserts. “Is being realistic.”

Albus goes to playfully shove Scorpius. But he misplaces his foot and slips on a leaf on the ledge, his balance immediately shifting and his leg buckling under the pressure and weight to try and stay on his feet. Before he has chance to tumble back into the water, though, Albus feels himself being pulled off the ledge onto the floor. He lands partly on the gravel (which hurts, a lot) and partly on the soft material of someone else.

“I hate you,” Scorpius groans from underneath him. “I hate you _so_ much. That is exactly why I had no faith in you.”

Albus props himself up onto his elbows, shuffling to the side so he isn’t laying on top of Scorpius. “You don’t hate me.”

“Oh, I really do.”

“You love me.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes and gently kicks Albus’ shin. “You’re annoying,” he smiles. “Are you okay, though?”

“I am,” Albus says. “Thank you for not letting me fall into the canal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Scorpius laughs as he stands up. He wipes his hands over his trousers before holding them out to help Albus up. “Well, without me you would definitely be swimming in dirty canal water,” he says. “But you also would have a much less interesting life.”

“I really would,” Albus smiles. He doesn’t immediately let go of Scorpius’ hand, and Scorpius doesn’t do so either. “Fancy a late lunch?”

Scorpius looks at him. His gaze burns; it feels different, _stronger_. Albus can’t really articulate what feels so sincere about Scorpius’ attention, but it definitely hasn’t always been like this.

“Sure,” Scorpius smiles. “Late lunch. Then maybe we can get your boyfriend to give us a ride back to where we came from.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. “My… boyfriend?”

“Oh, sorry. Is Romeo not the love of your life?”

“_Merlin_,” Albus groans as he prods Scorpius’ cheek. “You’re annoying.”

Scorpius smiles and shrugs his shoulders. And Albus loves him so much it’s beginning to hurt.

⚡

Albus doesn’t know what the time is. Late night or early morning: he doesn’t know. His watch is upstairs and the clocks in the living room don’t work. He can’t sleep, so he’s sat on a sofa with a glass of water in his hands watching the magical watering can hover over the plants.

He looks out the window. The streetlights flicker and for the first time since arriving at the cottage there are no people walking around outside. Albus drinks some of his water and reminds himself to breathe. He scratches his nose and wipes his eyes. He doesn’t know how long the sleepless nights and the anguish deep in his stomach will last, but he wishes it will pass soon.

But at the same time, Albus thinks, when those feelings pass it will mean he’s finally come to terms with everything. And he doesn’t think he ever wants to accept the fact his grandpa won’t be around anymore. He thinks of all the little souvenirs in the bottom of his bag that he’d bought to show his grandpa. The stupid little replica statue of the Eiffel tower, the shell-shaped candles he picked up from Barcelona. Even that ridiculous bobble-head statue of Albert Einstein he bought from the Genevan science museum. It all seems so pointless. Every single thing he’s picked up during the entire trip had been for the sole purpose of showing his grandpa. Building up the collection in the Burrow.

Part of Albus wants to go and get the rucksack and throw it all out. Throw everything away. Burn it, perhaps? But he still isn’t too good at _Incendio_, so no doubt he would definitely set the cottage on fire.

“I know you’re stood in the doorway,” Albus says. He doesn’t even turn to look at Scorpius, just speaks his sentence into the silent air. “You breathe very loudly.”

Scorpius’ soft footsteps sound closer and closer until he’s in front of Albus, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and looking at him. “I may breathe loudly, but you seem to have lost the ability to walk down the stairs quietly,” he says. “I thought you were just getting a drink but then you didn’t come back so I figured something was up.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want a draught? My dad made me pack one in case there came a time either of us needed it.” Scorpius shrugs, dangling the little vial in front of Albus.

Albus shakes his head. “I’m fine. Or, well, I will be,” he says. “I also hate the taste of those. Mum would always give them to me as a kid when I was sick and couldn’t sleep. To this day I can’t stand the smell of onion.”

“Your mum puts onion in sleeping draughts?”

“She said something about how the sourness cleanses your palates,” Albus shrugs. “Maybe that was just my Aunt Luna lying, though. She always has weird recipes, and I’m pretty sure the potions book we use is her old copy.”

Scorpius laughs quietly. “Of course,” he says. “Do you want me to leave you be? Now I know you’re okay I can give you space.”

“No,” Albus says, patting the space next to him on the sofa. “I… would rather you not go.”

Scorpius smiles. “Okay.” He says. He sets the vial down and shuffles over to the bed, kicking his legs up on the table so Albus can rest his head in Scorpius’ lap. Albus pulls a blanket over the two of them and stares at the ceiling, still balancing his glass of water between his hands.

He still doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep. But he’s not alone anymore, so that’s a definite improvement.

⚡

**2nd August**

Albus wakes up with a pain in his back and a chill over his entire body. As he opens his eyes and sits up ever so slightly he is confused as to how he ended up sleeping on the sofa. He breathes through the morning fog and stretches out some of the tension in his muscles, and as he goes to branch out his arms and yawn himself awake he finds himself gently slapping someone in the face.

That someone being Scorpius, who is also sleeping on the sofa. Sleeping with his legs crossed on the table and arms strewn all over the sofa cushions. The blanket is on the floor, explaining why Albus is so cold, and there is no pillow where he was resting on Scorpius’ lap, explaining why his back is in so much pain.

Albus watches Scorpius for a few moments; watches the rise and fall of his breathing and the way his lip quivers as he dreams up some wonderful scenarios. _This_ is his favourite Scorpius. The one who is completely relaxed with no strain on any parts of his body. The one with his slightly curled hair spread over his forehead and his cheeks rosy from a good night’s rest. Where everything is okay and there is nothing plaguing his mind. No scars from the trauma of life tainting his delicate features, no ulterior intention to anything he’s doing or saying.

This is the Scorpius he fell in love with in his second year at Hogwarts, and he wishes it could be the one he loves for the rest of his life.

Albus considers getting up to make breakfast but quickly changes his mind. He settles back down on Scorpius’ lap, pulling the blanket back over the two of them. This time, though, he does put a blanket over Scorpius’ knees so he doesn’t give himself a headache. And Albus lets himself fall back asleep. Because these are the moments he’s going to remember and relish the most; not the two of them trying to remember ever scrap of information about a particular museum they’ve visited, but the two of them bathing in each other’s presence. The two of them being Albus and Scorpius.

Albus _and_ Scorpius. Because that’s how the world intended for them to be.

⚡

They make pancakes for breakfast and sit on the steps of the cottage as the world wakes up around them. They wave at wizards who pass them by, various piles of newspapers and letters levitating above their heads, and smile as owls swoop above to the various postal drop off points set up around the community.

“It’s nice to be back among our people, isn’t it?” Albus asks.

Scorpius sneaks a bite of one of Albus’ pancakes. “It truly is,” he says. “Even though where we’re going today is full of Muggles.”

Albus shrugs. “As much as I love being around wizards, I think after everything that’s happened the last two days we could do with some down time around Muggles.”

“Good,” Scorpius smiles. “Because we’re going to be doing exactly that. Make sure you pack some swim trunks. Or, even better, just wear them instead of normal shorts so we don’t have to change.”

“Swimming trunks?” Albus asks, eyes following Scorpius as he stands up.

“Yeah. San Nicola Arcella, I told you about this. It’s by the ocean. We have a boat tour and free reign of the sea. I doubt we’ll be on dry land much.” Scorpius explains.

“Oh,” Albus says. “Right.”

_Merlin_.

The last thing he needs is to spend an entire day in the presence of a shirtless Scorpius, covered in water, probably radiant because of the sun. Perhaps the world is determined to destroy him by the end of their stay in Italy. He looks up to the sky and curses the transcendental force that is causing so much chaos for him.

He looks at Scorpius. And then he thanks the transcendental force that is causing so much chaos in his life. Albus is going to lose his mind by the end of this week: he is entirely sure of it.

⚡

San Nicola Arcella doesn’t belong in Italy. Or, at least, it doesn’t _feel_ like it belongs in Italy. Right on the edge of the sea, buildings towering over the water from the top of small cliffs, it feels so out of place. It is a cluster of colourful buildings among an ocean of greenery. Trees, bushes and everything else surrounds the town. The two of them trip over branches and cut their bare knees on thorns as they leave the grassy area they’d apparated to, and the last thing Albus expects to see is a tight-knit bunch of buildings all stood together like a little family overlooking the rest of the world.

Pastel paint covers the walls of houses, hotels, hostels and everything in between. The buildings all have hanging baskets twirling in the wind, rusted gates creaking as they swing ever so slightly open before being dragged back to their original position. They walk down flights of stone stairs, traipsing past outdoor seating with umbrellas hoisted above them and around winding roads towards the beaches. Everyone they pass seems to be wearing either a straw hat or swimming clothes. There is an air of antiquity that somehow collides with a modernity in the way people dress and the way people talk. The buildings burn with unspoken history but the people radiate a freshness that Albus can’t articulate in his mind.

He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trunks as they walk towards the beach Scorpius has picked for them to set up base. They pick up glasses of water and punnets of strawberries from a little stall they pass, though Albus is really only paying attention to his surroundings and the sounds of their trainers scratching on the stone beneath them. He watches the way birds come and go from atop the clay-coloured rooves, tweeting amicably into the air and assessing the locations before going to find somewhere better. He listens to snippets of Italian conversations they overhear from open French doors and glassless windows. The language feels effortlessly romantic in this setting. With the wide open world in front of them, ocean waves crashing to the various beaches, and the sun gradually ascending further and further into the bright blue sky, Albus thinks this is the perfect place to drown in love.

The beach, _Arco Mango_, is surprisingly empty. Albus had expected bursts of tourists to rush here early in the morning to get a good space, but it is only the two of them and another couple on the sandy shore. Scorpius murmurs something about how people tend to stay in their hotels until later in the day when the sun is truly beating down on them and the businesses of San Nicola Arcella are open for all.

They summon some towels from the bottom of their bags and set up base towards the rear of the beach, wanting to avoid the risk of the tide coming up and soaking their belongings but still wanting to be sat in the heart of the sun.

The beach is breath-taking. Albus has been lost for words many times this trip, but Arco Mango somehow manages to render him useless once more. The water isn’t blue. At least, not a normal blue. When Albus thinks of blue oceans he thinks of the beaches in Wales or the ones off the South Coast of England. A basic blue; where you look and there is one shade that seems flat along the horizon. But this sea isn’t blue. It has shades of green and teal and turquoise that blend with navy. Everytime the tide changes the colour alters. It reminds Albus vaguely of the colours of a mood ring Lily picked up when she was younger, the ring that would blend from green to yellow to blue depending on whose palm it was in.

The sun catches the waves at certain points, breaking through the rocky formation and scattering over the surface like little white stars floating across the surface, making the entire thing look like a precious jewel. It glitters like silver but shimmers like mercury. And the arch… Albus can’t believe that the beach was formed purely by nature. The tiny crevice separating them from the entire ocean is the arch that hangs threateningly above them. The water is immediately darker in the space under the arch and Albus so desperately wants to explore it. Wants to feel the coolness over his cheeks and the water keeping his feet off the ground.

“How did you find this place?” Albus asks as he sits on his towel, picking a strawberry out the punnet.

Scorpius shrugs. “I think it was in a Muggle travel guide? Obscure places to visit in Italy,” he says. “It’s like… I know this is a once in a lifetime trip and all, and we should logically be doing all the popular places, but it felt like somewhere we needed to go. We can read about the robe-making history of Milan in textbooks, but we can’t read about the experiences of places like this.”

Albus lays down over his towel, resting his head on his bag as a make-shift pillow. “Well, I’m very glad to be here instead of spending all day walking around another city. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved everything we’ve done, but _Merlin_ my feet have been killing me.”

Scorpius giggles and lays down on his towel, too, resting on his side so he can look at Albus. “Mine, too. We’ve basically been non-stop since we got to that hotel back home.”

“Feels like years since we were in that hotel, doesn’t it? Since we were saying goodbye to our parents…” Albus trails off.

Scorpius nods. “Yeah. But it also feels like time has gone so fast. I can’t believe tomorrow is our last day in Italy and then we’re in our last country. The trip has seemed to have flown by while also dragging at the same time. It’s so weird.”

“If we’re being honest,” Albus says, turning his head to the side to stare at Scorpius. “I kind of understand how you were feeling back in Switzerland. About the whole not wanting to go back thing. I obviously want to go back so I can see my family and my grandma and everything… but when I think about life back at home… I can’t ever imagine being as happy as I am out here. With you.”

Scorpius shuffles a little closer to him. “I think what Romeo said yesterday was the thing we both needed to hear most right now,” he murmurs. “That there are more important things in life than work. Love, enjoyment, adventuring…”

“Yeah…”

“I want to be a Healer, I know I do. But thinking about being cooped up in a hospital while I train… I worry that it isn’t going to be everything I’ve imagined it to be,” Scorpius says. “I’m worried it will wear me down. I’m doing this to try and make sure my mum didn’t die for nothing, so that I can make a change. But what if doing the work changes me? What if it breaks me?”

“It won’t,” Albus says, reaching over to gently push some of Scorpius’ hair behind his ear. “Nothing can ever break you, Scorp. You are indestructible.”

“I think the fresh air is getting to my head,” Scorpius chuckles, pressing his bottle of water to his forehead. “We’ve had it tough, haven’t we? Life… all of it. I sometimes feel incredibly ungrateful, you know. People fought for the world we have today, they sacrificed so much to make everything safe and happy and well and they don’t complain. And here I am, barely an adult, whining on a beach in Italy because I don’t want to get a job. Comparatively–”

“There is nothing to compare, Scorpius. We live in a different time,” Albus says. “Things aren’t like how they were before. And anyway, like you said, we’ve had it tough. You, especially.”

“Albus…”

“It’s like you forget how hard your life has been. Either that or you don’t truly understand how much you’ve been through. I say it all the time and I will keep saying it until you agree: you should be kinder to yourself,” Albus says. “Your school life was spent being bullied. You watched your mother die, watched your father not know how to handle it. You grew up with a name associated with Dark Magic and had to navigate that legacy. You watched our classmate die. You were _tortured_. You are indestructible, Scorpius Malfoy. If none of those things have broken you, nothing else has a chance.”

Scorpius sighs. “I miss my mum.”

Albus smiles sadly. “I know.”

“When I come to places as beautiful as this,” Scorpius gestures to the beach. “I always wonder whether they will be as beautiful as my mum. And none of them ever are.”

“I hate how cruel the world has been to you,” Albus says. “It… it angers me. That the world took _you_, the most beautiful and wonderful and kind person, and tried to ruin you. Tried to put out your light.”

“I’m really not as great as you think I am, Al.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Albus says, gently prodding over Scorpius’ heart. “You are the greatest person to walk this Earth.”

Scorpius groans and looks away to hide the redness on his cheeks. “I’m going to have a nap before you make me cry,” he says. “And when I’m done we can go on a boat tour, okay?”

Albus smiles. “Sounds good.”

⚡

Albus slings his towel over his shoulder as they walk along the jetty to the boat bobbing at the end of it. A man stands to the side of his boat, arms crossed and sunglasses pushed through his hair, and he smiles at the two of them as they walk up to him.

“_Ciao_,” the man says, holding a hand out for both Albus and Scorpius to shake. “I’m Dante.”

_Incredible_, Albus thinks.

“I’m Scorpius,” Scorpius smiles, gesturing to Albus after shaking Dante’s hand. “And this is Albus.”

Albus smiles. “Hi,” he says, gripping Dante’s hand. “Or, I guess, ciao!”

Dante grins. “_Ciao_, indeed,” he smiles. “So this is my boat. Her name is Bella, and before you get on and we set sail I just need to tell you some information and ask some questions, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Albus nods. “Fire away.”

“So, just some safety information,” Dante says. “There are life rings and an inflatable raft on there in case something happens. Bella is only little, so there isn’t much to her. Just try to not fall off when we’re sailing, and listen to my instructions when I talk as we should be fine. Good?”

“Good.” Albus and Scorpius say at the same time.

Dante smiles. “And now my questions,” he says, ushering the two of them onto his boat. “What are you two wanting to do? Snorkelling? Swimming? Just sailing around the shore?”

Albus and Scorpius look at each other, exchanging silent words. “I think swimming and sailing?” Albus answers, to which Scorpius nods behind him. “Just… show us the beautiful parts and we’ll have a dip when we’re far from land.”

Dante nods and hands them little tubs of fruit and bottles of water. “Feel free to the snacks and drinks while we sail. There are benches to sit on, and there is alcohol in the cooler. But in weather like this,” he gestures to the sun beating over them. “I would recommend water and lemonade and other soft drinks.”

“Thank you, Dante.” Scorpius says.

He sits down at the rear of the boat, folding his towel neatly by the side of his feet. Albus settles down next to him, kicking his legs up on the cooler as Dante starts up the boat and sends them bouncing through the gentle waves away from land. San Nicola Arcella shrinks to a blur of trees and rooves peeking through the top of the branches, and all Albus can feel is the wind on his cheeks and splashes of water sinking into his hair.

Dante takes them to the beach where they had sat earlier, showing them the archway from a closer angle. Drips of water fall onto Albus’ palm as he holds it out under the arch, gently patting Scorpius’ cheek to wipe the residue on his skin. Scorpius flicks sea water into Albus’ hair to get back at him, and they giggle into the open air while Dante changes the route of the boat and shows them more landscape.

People look like ants on the shore and the water glimmers with the movement of the sun. Albus watches shadows fly underneath them as schools of fish adventure the underside of the boat, occasionally dipping his fingers in the sea to try and catch a feel of one of them. In the distance, backlit by the sun and looking like shadow puppets against the periwinkle sky, Dante points out dolphins leaping into the air. They glide effortlessly in and out of the water and beside him Scorpius eagerly winds up the camera to take a few photos.

Albus tosses up a peace science and sticks his tongue out between his teeth as Scorpius points the camera to him, holding his hand in front of his face when Scorpius seems to photograph him for much longer than necessary.

“That’s the first time you’ve shied away from a photo.” Scorpius observes.

Albus shrugs. “You’re meant to be taking pictures of the scenery,” he says, gesturing widely to the expansive sea in front of them. “Not of dorky old me.”

“I love photos of you.”

Albus decides to ignore that statement for the benefit of his sanity. He’s already foggy in the mind with a shirtless Scorpius in front of him and his emotions running wild after the last few days. The last thing he needs to do is overanalyse any little thing Scorpius says to him.

“So,” Dante breaks his silence. “Are you two here for long?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Just a day trip, actually,” he says. “We’ve been in Italy for a while. Tomorrow is our last day. We came out here to get away from the people in Rome.”

Dante nods. “Most people do that,” he says. “It is much quieter out here. But you get to feel the heart of Italy. We are more than big buildings. We are heart and soul and life.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Albus smiles, holding up his bottle of water. “I love Italy.”

“Where else have you been? Other than here and Rome.”

“We were in Venice yesterday,” Scorpius says. “We were supposed to go to Milan, but our plans changed and we came here instead. And we’re off to Naples tomorrow. Only for half the day, I think. Our travel to Greece is at noon.”

“Milan is overrated anyway,” Dante smiles. “You will gain a lot more being out here than you would in a big place like that.”

The boat slows down, instead gliding gracefully over the waves. Albus eats the grapes out his fruit pot and sneaks a few from Scorpius’, too, downing his water as he watches the clouds mould into shapes above him. He thinks he sees one in the shape of a heart and one in the shape of a saxophone. Deep down he’s sure that there is some subliminal message behind those shapes, but he daren’t ask Scorpius in case the answer makes him even more erratic and emotional.

Dante stops their boat completely a few moments later, stepping away from the wheel with his sunglasses covering his face and a banana between his fingers. “This is my favourite spot to bring people to swim. Or snorkel. Either is good,” he says. “The water is clear, there are lots of fish and other animals that come by here. You can still see land, too. Feel free to go wherever, just be careful. If you swim too far I’ll come find you when I need to take us back to the island.”

“Amazing,” Scorpius smiles. “You’re amazing, Dante. Thank you.”

“You English people are much too kind,” Dante says. “Swim. Have fun. Live.”

Albus nods and steps up to the edge of the boat. “Dare you to jump.” He says, smiling over at Scorpius.

“I will if you do.” Scorpius counters, holding out his hand.

Albus tilts his head to the side and considers the possibilities. Could they end up holding hands and drowning after one accidentally punches the other? Maybe so. But would that mean he’ll die holding hands with Scorpius? It would indeed.

Albus laces their fingers together and swings their joined hands between them. “Count of three?” He asks. Scorpius nods. “One… two…”

“Three!” Scorpius interrupts. He jumps high in the air, dragging Albus long with them, and the two of them plummet to the water below. Their hands separate on impact, and Albus pushes himself further beneath the surface of the water to wash everything out of his system. He wades by himself, completely isolated and alone, feeling as free as anything.

Albus loves swimming. Loves how the feeling mimics what he imagines being in space is like. Completely weightless. Floating among an endless _thing_ with nothing except your wits keeping you alive. He breathes out, peeling his eyes open to watch the bubbles rise above him. The salt stings a little, but the view from below is worth it. Fish in the distance; the shimmering turquoise and green shades making it seem like he’d just jumped right into the centre of an emerald.

He would stay down forever if he could.

He doesn’t, though. Albus kicks back to the surface and shakes off the water, spinning on the spot until he spots Scorpius a short distance away, floating on his back. Albus swims over and splashes some water at Scorpius, diving under again when Scorpius threatens to splash him back.

“You’re a menace, Albus Severus Potter,” Scorpius laughs, gently flicking Albus’ nose when they’re both above water again. “I could drown you.”

“You know, you’ve threatened to drown me a lot so far this trip,” Albus says. “Yet I’m still alive. So I highly doubt you ever will drown me.”

Scorpius jokingly rolls his eyes and swims a little further from Albus. He splashes his face with the sea water, washing off the rays of sun, and smiles as Albus catches up to him. “Isn’t it wonderful here?”

“Indeed.”

“Reminds me of you,” Scorpius says. Albus’ breath catches in his throat. “Quiet, understated. A bit like the odd one out in comparison to other places in Italy. But incredibly beautiful and delicate and full of history. You love it once you’ve explored and seen what it offers.”

Albus dunks back under the water to keep off the redness flooding to his face. “Really?” He asks. “Funny you say that, since I thought Venice reminded me of you.”

“Huh. Funny, right?” Scorpius asks. “Almost like we’re on the same wavelength, or something.”

Albus stares at him through stinging eyes. He doesn’t know what hurts more: the salt water burning or the beauty of his best friend. “You are... the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

“How so?”

Albus shrugs as well as he can considering he’s swimming. “I’m not sure,” he laughs. “I just… I just thought after seven years that I would understand you. But you still surprise me.”

“I’m an endless tank of wonder and secrets, Al,” Scorpius smiles, shoving another wave of water at Albus. “I thought you’d know that by now.”

“_Hey_!” Albus whines, shivering from the tidal wave. He kicks rapidly to get closer to Scorpius, trapping him in a headlock. “Don’t make me fight you in the water.”

Scorpius gently pokes and prods Albus’ sides, where he’s most ticklish, and the two of them roll in the water as they play fight. “You will lose this fight.” He says, yelping as Albus drags him under the water for a few moments.

Albus blows bubbles into Scorpius’ face, his laughter soundless as he brings himself back up to get air. “In your dreams.” He smirks.

Scorpius goes back down and returns behind Albus, jumping onto his back to try and sink him. Albus’ shouts turn to gargles as they find themselves under the water again. All Albus can see is the splashes of water between them, and all he can feel is Scorpius’ skin on his as they gently swat at each other, trying to break free and win this little fight they’ve found themselves in.

Albus resurfaces and pushes his hands through his hair, dragging the damp strands from off his face. He shakes his head and coughs up some sea water, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision and find Scorpius. He wades in the water to keep upright, breathing deeply for a few moments until Scorpius pops up in front of him.

“Al,” Scorpius coughs, holding out his arm. “Give me a hand, please?”

Albus slots their fingers together and gently pulls Scorpius towards him. The crystal sea water splashes around them, and when Scorpius gets close enough he wraps his arm around Albus’ shoulders. Albus kicks desperately under the water to support the weight of both of them for there is no chance in this world he is letting go of Scorpius.

“You okay?” Albus asks.

With his free hand, Scorpius wipes some droplets off Albus’ eyelashes and stares intently at him. “We’re friends, right?”

Albus chuckles. Then frowns when Scorpius doesn’t even crack a smile. “What? Of course we are. You’re my best friend. Why are you asking a question like that?”

“Because friends…” Scorpius starts. “I don’t have a lot of them. And the more I think about… _this_… us… the more I’m not sure it’s what friendship should feel like.”

Albus freezes. Then he remembers that he is the sole person stopping him and Scorpius from sinking so he starts kicking his feet again. “Are you… I’m not understanding, Scorp,” he says. “Are you, like, friend breaking up with me? You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

“What? No!” Scorpius says, tightening his grip around Albus’ shoulders. “That’s not it… at all.”

“Okay… then… what?” Albus asks. _Begs_.

Scorpius pauses. He looks to the sky and closes his eyes; Albus instinctively winds his arm around Scorpius’ waist to keep him close. “I’m going to ask you a question and I really would like it if you answer me honestly so we can talk about it like adults.”

Albus frowns. This sounds a _lot_ like a friendship break up. “Um… okay. Hit me.”

Scorpius looks back at him with that odd gaze. The one Albus can’t read. Can’t place to one specific emotion. He looks like he’s never seen Albus before, and it mildly terrifies Albus.

“How long have you liked me?”

Albus semi-freezes again. “What?”

Scorpius sighs. “Please answer me,” he says. “How long have you liked me?”

“I mean… I’ve been pretty keen on you since the day I met you on the Hogwarts Express?” Albus says, panicking.

“Don’t be pedantic, you dork.” Scorpius mutters.

“I don’t know what you _mean_.” Albus lies.

Scorpius tilts Albus’ chin up with his free hand. “How long have you been in love with me?”

“_Oh_,” Albus says. Is he having a heart attack or is he just panicking? Albus can’t tell. He also can’t really breathe, which is incredibly unhelpful since they’re in the middle of the ocean and he’s currently supporting the weight of two people. “I… um… fourth year, I guess?”

He watches Scorpius exhale.

“It was always sort of… there. In my periphery vision, or whatever. But fourth year was when it hit me. If I had to pinpoint an exact moment I’d say, like… when we were in the Forest? In the Durmstrang robes before we turned time? When you were looking at the castle and talking about how beautiful you thought it was and how much you loved it. When you called me your best friend and were nattering on about us getting up to mayhem. That’s when I looked at you and thought, _oh_,” Albus says. He’s rambling; Scorpius asked for a date and here he is giving him a chronological documentation of every second of his life since he realised he was in love with him. “And ever since then… it’s just gotten stronger.”

Scorpius pauses. “Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

Albus shrugs. He can barely look at Scorpius right now, instead directing his gaze to the water around them and the fish he can see swimming underneath the surface. “Because you liked my cousin. And I didn’t want to add more complications to an already complex year. I thought we’d been through enough for one year, and then there never came a convenient time to mention it…”

“Al,” Scorpius says softly. “You… the time I was with Rose…”

“It was shit, yeah. But I lived. Honestly, Scorpius. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is, Al.”

Albus looks at him. “Why would you ask that question?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Like I said,” he murmurs. “There’s something in the air. Something that’s just… making things a lot clearer in my mind.”

Albus drops his gaze from Scorpius’ eyes to his lips and back again. He wants to do it so badly. Their friendship is already on the brink of utter destruction after he’s admitted to being in love with Scorpius, so Albus doubts it would make much difference to the run of things. Besides, being in the middle of the ocean while in Italy seems like the most romantic place to finally fulfil a fantasy of Albus’, even if it could potentially drown and destroy them at the same time.

Chaotic, Albus thinks. Which perfectly describes them.

“Albus…” Scorpius murmurs.

Albus does it.

He closes the gap between them. Completely, this time. He doesn’t surrender with a few millimetres left like he did in Geneva. Doesn’t second guess his feelings. Albus tightens his grip on Scorpius and kisses him. And for a few moments he doesn’t feel anything; it’s like he’s blanked out. Has entered a state so euphoric and monumental that his body can’t process it. He’s kissing his best friend. Albus is kissing Scorpius.

And _Scorpius_ is kissing Albus, too.

A realisation that shudders Albus back to life. Albus can feel Scorpius place a hand on his cheek, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on his temples. He can feel them floating in this ocean, as if they were in space, completely intertwined. They fit perfectly; like random parts that mend a broken heart. Albus slots into the cracks and crevices of Scorpius’ life and fills him with joy. And Scorpius… Scorpius breathes life in Albus’ silly, complex little existence.

Albus had expected there to be fireworks. He thought that finally doing this, _finally_ kissing the guy he’s wanted to kiss for years, would light some bright display in his soul. Would send shivers down his spine and chill his core. Lily had read him articles from her teen magazines about what it’s like to kiss your crush, how you know you’re in love, everything like that. He’d engrained it in his mind that there would be a grand explosion in the depths of his stomach. Albus thought he’d burn. After all, he is touching the sun right now.

But none of that happens.

No flames, no sparks flying. No safety hazards.

Instead, Albus feels whole. Feels like he’s come home after years out in the cold.

He feels like he’s just walked into the Burrow for Christmas, the scent of clementine and cinnamon filling his senses from where cakes are baked in the kitchen. He feels like he’s eating some of his dad’s famous casserole while his siblings bicker over who has to wash the dishes. Like he’s just boarded the Hogwarts Express and has found Scorpius.

_Home_.

Home and whole.

And Albus prefers that a lot more than the idea of fireworks and chills and everything else he’s been told would happen.

Albus isn’t breathing. Or, more specifically, he’s forgotten that he should be breathing. He reluctantly pulls back from Scorpius, to pull himself back down to Earth, so he can breathe. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Kiss Scorpius again? Let him go? Regret his actions, dive under the water, transfigure into a fish and live his life at the bottom of the ocean? So many choices.

None of which he gets to choose as Scorpius kisses him again. Only for a few seconds this time, possibly just to check that Albus was still alive and hadn’t died and turned into a ghost, but a few seconds that Albus thinks he’ll remember forever.

Albus presses their noses together and breathes in the warm, salty air that burns around them. The sun dries the tips of their hair, causing Albus’ already untameable nest to dart off into more directions, and paints their cheeks pink.

“This is what I meant, Al,” Scorpius whispers. “When I said that what we have doesn’t feel like friendship. Friends… don’t do things like this.”

Albus swallows thickly. “Then what is it?”

Scorpius dips his fingers into the sea and drags them over Albus’ cheeks. He paints him with invisible ink, turns him into a masterpiece of his own accord. “I don’t know,” he says. “But if this _is_ friendship, then I’m glad you’re the only one I have.”

“Sorry to interrupt, boys,” Dante rides up on his boat, holding out a hand to help them both up. “But it’s been over an hour and I have another tour booked in fifteen minutes.”

Albus flushes under Dante’s gaze, allowing his hand to drop from Scorpius’ back and instead hold onto his wrist as they paddle back to the boat. They clamber in together, collapsing into a puddle of damp limbs and crinkly hair. Albus picks up a towel and dries off his arms, ruffling it through his hair to make the messy strands look like they’ve been deliberately placed.

“Did you enjoy the water?” Dante asks. He hands them some bottles of lemonade, gaze lingering longer on Scorpius as he returns to the wheel.

Scorpius smiles into his drink. “Very much so,” he says. “Thank you, Dante.”

Dante grins at him. “No worries, loverboy.”

Scorpius blushes, Albus smiles, and Dante takes them back to shore.

⚡

Albus’ rests his head on Scorpius’ shoulder as they eat pasta and watch the sun sink down over the sea they were swimming in not too long ago. Albus twirls his fork through his spaghetti, holding his hand under his chin to avoid dropping any on his trunks, dragging a napkin over his mouth after every bite. He sips on a cocktail Scorpius persuaded him to buy, crosses his legs on the chair, and endangers his eyesight more as he watches the biggest star shy away from view.

Scorpius rests his hand on the ledge beside them, lips dragging over the rim of his glass and his breathing perfectly in time with Albus’. He drums his fork on the side of his plate to some tune that sounds vaguely familiar in Albus’ mind, but he doesn’t ask about as to not disturb the silence.

Albus doesn’t know what to say to break the silence. Unsurprisingly, in his opinion, they have yet to address what happened in the water. But, on the bright side, Albus doesn’t feel crushed like he thought he would. He’d spent years stressing over a hypothetical situation where he finally voiced his feelings about Scorpius and Scorpius didn’t say anything back. But here he was, middle of Italy having kissed his best friend _twice_, and Albus doesn’t feel any worry or anguish in his stomach.

“I think you’re sunburnt,” Scorpius says, setting his fork down to gently brush his thumb over Albus’ shoulders. “We didn’t put any of that Muggle lotion on after we stopped swimming, did we?”

Albus shakes his head. He watches as Scorpius readjusts his position, momentarily lifting Albus’ head from his shoulder, and kisses over the spots on redness on his skin. Albus holds his breath; Scorpius reaches into his bag to pull out a vial of something pink and blue, the two colours not mixing but instead just floating around each other, spilling a few droplets onto his fingers so he can massage it into Albus’ skin,

“That should get rid of the pain of the burns,” Scorpius says. “I don’t think it gets rid of the redness, but it soothes the pain.”

Albus nods. He has nothing to say in response. He takes Scorpius’ hand back in his and brushes his lips over Scorpius’ knuckles. Testing the boundaries, he supposes. Seeing how far he can take this new weird transitional part of their friendship before either of them flinches.

Scorpius doesn’t flinch. He watches as Albus kisses his hand then resumes his old position, head on Scorpius shoulder and eyes watching the sunset. Albus can feel Scorpius’ gaze burning his temples long after he settles back down.

Part of him thinks they won’t need to address what he’s referring to in his mind as _the maybe awful but maybe wonderful ocean issue_, but the logical side of his brain knows they will eventually. For now, though, warm food in front of him and sweet cocktail over his lips (and, therefore, now on the back of Scorpius’ hand), Albus doesn’t care about that.

For once he doesn’t _care_. Because it’s all out in the open. And he never thought he’d get this far.

⚡

They get back to their cottage past midnight. After they change into comfy clothes Albus hangs their swimming trunks to dry out their window and Scorpius makes their nightly cups of tea.

When Scorpius comes back upstairs Albus is on the bed, legs crossed and eyes glued to the door. Scorpius sets their mugs down on the table and clambers onto the bed, too, balancing on his shins as he sits in front of Albus and looks at him.

Now, Albus thinks? Does he bring up _the maybe awful but maybe wonderful ocean issue_ now?

Then Scorpius kisses him again.

And, well. No. Not now, then.

Not that Albus is complaining, though. He’s not completely convinced that this isn’t a dream; that he hasn’t accidentally fallen asleep and is concocting this glorious situation in his imagination while Scorpius sleeps next to him.

Then Albus goes to change how he’s sitting so he can get closer to Scorpius but ends up tumbling off the edge of the bed. He lands with a _thump_, and there is no sound until Scorpius bursts into little bubbles of laughter from the bed.

“Oh, _Merlin_.” Albus groans, clutching a carpet burn he’s sure is developing on his elbow.

Scorpius holds out a hand, stifling his laughter with the other. “Are you okay?”

“Wonderful,” Albus whines. “You’re going to be the death of me, Scorpius Malfoy.”

Scorpius grins. Albus is screwed. Utterly screwed, but utterly devoted to this blonde bundle of joy; but, still, he wouldn’t trade his situation for anything in the world.

⚡

**3rd August**

_James,_

_So I know we haven’t ever really written each other letters, but a lot has happened recently and I would really quite like to talk to my big brother. Unfortunately you aren’t here, so I guess spilling my guts on parchment will have to work. Scorpius and I are currently in Naples about to head out to Greece. We’re getting a Muggle train again, so are waiting in the concourse for the platform to be announced. _

_We went to the ruins of Pompeii today, which was incredible and heart breaking at the same time. Did you know that the eruption of Vesuvius was caused by magic? I didn’t. But according to Scorpius a warlock called Zaccaria Innocenti cast the Dancing Feet Spell, and Vesuvius started dancing and erupting. Italy is bizarre; so much of the history was caused by our people. I have no idea how magic is still a secret out here. There must be some pretty persuasive wizards and witches with authority who keep things hushed up._

_But anyway, that’s beside the point._

_I wish I could write down words about grandpa but my mind is still processing that information. Have you gone home? I hope this letter finds you. I’m sending it to the houseboat, so hopefully Sofia can get it to you if you’re not there. _

_I feel empty over it. It’s been a weird week. Everything has been so… eventful. I need to slow down and take a breather, but whenever I sit for more than two minutes my mind goes back to grandpa. And how I wasn’t there and can’t be there now. The last thing he said to me was that he loved me. The words keep going round and round in my mind. I don’t think the situation feels real yet, but no doubt it will hit me when I get home in a little while. _

_It feels wrong to put my own personal problems in the same letter, but I don’t know what to do. I have all these feelings bursting inside and I might implode if I don’t vocalise them to anyone. And since you’re the only one who knows the situation, you’re the best choice I have._

_I kissed Scorpius._

_And, well, Scorpius kissed me too. A couple of times, actually. Which is jarring. And confusing. We were swimming and he asked me how long I’ve been in love with him. Then I just did it, because it was the only thing in my mind. And since then it’s happened a couple of times. At dinner, before bed. Nothing today, though. But we haven’t spoken about it, either. I mean… he’s not even gay! Or, at least, he hasn’t told me if he is. I don’t think he is. Gay, that is. Because of Rose. None of that was pretend. He loved her, I know he did. So bi, maybe?_

_Merlin, I don’t know. I’m confused. And I’m sad but elated but broken but alive._

_Italy has well and truly thrown everything up in the air in every aspect of my life. And I am so, so confused. I so wish I was back in Barcelona with you, drinking on the roof and dancing in that bar. Everything was simpler then. Happier, then. _

_But everything is sort of happy now, too. I don’t know. None of this is making sense, is it?_

_Sorry, James. I just had to get it all out._

_I hope I see you soon. Back home, maybe? After I return from Greece? That’s only a week away. A week… this trip has gone so fast. And, honestly, I didn’t expect everything to be destroyed when I returned home._

_Anyway. That’s all. I just needed to write to someone, I hope you don’t mind. I love you, loads._

_See you soon,_

_Albus x_

⚡

Albus shakes the snow globe he bought from a gift shop in Naples, watching as the fake snow (coloured red and orange to look like lava) glides around the mould of Vesuvius. Part of Albus thinks the snow globe is in awful taste, but part of him also fell in love with it. It’s almost so disgracefully inappropriate that he couldn’t not bring it with him.

Scorpius reads next to him. _Greece: A Wizards Guide_ is the title. He’s on a page full of spells, Albus can just about make out _expecto patronum_ and _riddikulus_ among the Greek letters.

“I’m going to miss Italy.” Albus says. He spins on his plastic seat to face Scorpius, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the jumper Scorpius is wearing.

Scorpius looks at him with a smile. “So am I.”

Albus doesn’t blink. “We’re okay, aren’t we?” He asks. Stupid question, _truly_ a stupid question. But Scorpius seems to understand what true feelings the question conceals.

Scorpius nods. “Of course we are,” he says. “We’re friends.”

Albus drags his eyebrows together and bites the inside of his cheek. _Friends_. It must be a metaphor, Albus thinks.

“We,” Albus gestures between the two of them. “We are friends?”

“Best friends,” Scorpius asserts, gently setting a hand on Albus’ knee. “Whatever that word means these days.”

“You are my best friend,” Albus says. He isn’t sure if they’re speaking the same metaphorical language right now (he _really_ hopes they are), but they’re in too deep for him to start saying something else. “My only friend.”

Scorpius smiles. “You’re my only friend, too,” he says. “And you’re the only friend I ever want.”

And… _yeah_. They’re speaking the same language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while researching and writing this chapter i found out that venice has just suffered the second-worst flood ever recorded, which really broke my heart. and since this fic technically is set years in the future i got sort of sad wondering whether there would even be a venice for albus and scorpius to visit. basically (odd for an end note i know haha) we need to save our planet.
> 
> anyway, back on topic, that was italy. just greece & back home left! it's all getting a bit real and emotional now - see you for the next part <3
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


	6. greece

**3rd August**

Athens is quirky.

Albus had been expecting grandeur and amazement and to have been swept off his feet upon leaving the train station, but found himself filling with confusion as he looked around, backpack in his hands and feet dragging on the floor. Albus’ perception of Greece, built up through years of listening to Scorpius read aloud from books about the place, had been one of beauty. Elegant structures that feel otherworldly, gorgeous buildings and beaches that are covered in white and glisten like bleached boxes under the raw Grecian sunlight. But Athens is none of those things.

Athens is a maze of concrete apartments and joined puzzle pieces in the shapes of buildings, shops and other residential properties. He feels a blanket of sadness unusually fall over him as they navigate the ordinary streets, mind struggling to comprehend the simplicity of the city. In contrast to Venice, Barcelona – even Geneva, if Albus is honest with himself – Athens feels lost. Lost in a limbo between modernity and the classical history that overrules its reputation. Perhaps, he thinks, the charm of Athens is weakened by tourist’s preconceptions of the place. People arrive expecting a stunning Grecian picture of power and strength and fragile beauty. Instead, they are greeted by something that seems misplaced. Athens has been dropped into the country, assigned the label of capital, and seems to float a few centimetres higher than everywhere else. Like the edges of the city don’t mingle with the remnants of the country.

It isn’t until they turn a corner and, out of nowhere, the Parthenon appears that Albus feels like he’s in Greece. Acropolis emerges from the hectic hustle and bustle of residential life below, floating on a cloud of jagged rocks and sparse trees. And, just like that, Athens has a purpose. It has a _feeling_. Albus holds onto Scorpius’ wrist as they walk, his eyes glued to the sight of the classic buildings towering above them. Even from this distance, hundreds of feet below and trapped in a bubble of normality, Albus can feel the prestige. Can feel the power that the structures ooze. The pillars juxtapose the simple box-like buildings that make up the entire basic landscape of Athens’ street-life, separating the objects on the hill from the rest of the city just by their architecture alone. Albus finds it hard to believe that the two different planes belong in the same place. He thinks it would be like if he put Hogwarts next to a bunch of Muggle supermarkets. They both have their own charm, their own purposes and individual stylistic choices, but they would clash.

But then, he thinks, that may be the charm of Athens. This city is awash with an intense reputation and high expectations; people pass through the streets wanting to see and feel the magnitude of Greek history in every step they take. But a city like this can’t live that way forever. It _has_ to grow and change and would do that by creating new buildings, changing the architecture and moulding an environment that balances the wants of tourists and the needs of civilians. As Albus looks from the stainless white apartment buildings to the ancient Acropolis on the hill, he thinks that Athens is a bit like him; stuck in the middle of a complicated juggle act, but trying its best to manage expectations and reality.

“Here’s our hotel,” Scorpius says, pulling Albus right out his mental critique of Athens. He holds the door open for Albus, smiling as he beckons him in. “It’s a Muggle one, so don’t cast any accidental spells or anything like that.”

Albus grins and rolls his eyes, gently flicking Scorpius’ nose as they walk into the lobby. Cool, white and creaky are the three words Albus would use to describe the hotel. Everything is white, or off-white, with only a couple of specific decorations that have any colour. The air conditioning is chilling on his arms, prickling his skin and shuddering down his back, as they walk up to the reception, and Albus leans heavily into Scorpius’ side to try and retain warmth. Like penguins, he thinks. Huddling together to stay warm.

The counter creaks under their weight as they both rest their elbows on the top, Scorpius spreading out sheets of paper they’d organised with the details of their booking on. To their right a door creaks as someone exits the hallway and walks onto the street. The floor creaks, the windows creak: but Albus doesn’t mind. The place has a delicate vibe to it, an essence of antiquity he sort of loves. Even as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and the plank beneath his shoes wobbles from the pressure, Albus still falls in love with the building.

The walk to their room after the lady behind the desk gives them their key is a pleasant one; up some rickety stairs and along a corridor that reminds Albus painfully of the Leaky Cauldron is where they find their room, a little one with a sloping wall and skylight showering the room in a rectangular box of light. The bed has a copper frame, little sun details winding around in the metal, and the sheets are blue with a constellation pattern covering them. Albus brushes his fingertip over the Scorpius constellation, mind travelling way back to Spain when the two of them lay on their backs and read the sky as if it were a children’s book they’d come across hundreds of times.

_A hunter, someone who is wanting to find something or figure something out so badly, is inflected with bravery. He battles, and he hunts, and he seeks until he gets his crown. He finds true love._

Albus knew right there and then that the stars had been telling his life story. Perhaps it could have also been Scorpius’, too. But Albus had been battling for years, he just can’t put his finger on where the bravery came from. It came from somewhere, clearly.

Albus shakes his head and looks around the rest of the room. A regal cabinet covered in mugs and spoons and little pamphlets detailing local tours to the prime spots of Athens. The bathroom is tucked away in the corner, the light powered by a string falling from the ceiling with a little owl sculpture dangling off the bottom. The floor is carpeted, a scratchy light brown fabric that tickles Albus’ feet as he walks after kicking off his shoes, and on the walls hang various prints of paintings presenting various Greek gods and goddesses to them. A couple of the frames are lopsided, and Albus watches while Scorpius tilts them to be level with the rest of the walls.

Albus sits on the bed, the mattress creaking under him, and stares at Scorpius. He doesn’t think there’s ever been a time where he doesn’t know what to say to Scorpius, but he’s in that situation now. Stranded in this weird place of their relationship; trapped in the middle of the transitional period where they’re going from friends to whatever in the _world_ they’re becoming now. Albus wants to talk but would rather vomit than vocalise the utterly disgusting question of _what are we_? He’s watched his fair share of Muggle romance films where that question was used, and he knows better than to drop it into conversation without context.

But the longer he doesn’t ask the more he begins to overthink. Overthink everything that’s happened the last couple of days. If someone were to ask Albus what he did for his last birthday he wouldn’t be able to utter a detail but he would be able to give a pin-point accurate retelling of everything that’s happened since they were in San Nicola Arcella. How far they walked from the jetty to the restaurant after Albus kissed Scorpius for the first time. How long it took for them to get back to their apartment in Rome, how long the pauses were between their conversations. _Merlin_, he could probably say how many times Scorpius breathed that night while he slept.

As he watches Scorpius he wishes he were a Seer. Or that he paid attention in Divination instead of sneakily pouring himself cups of tea. Perhaps if he’d tried he would know how to read minds. Except he didn’t, so he’s stuck staring at the back of Scorpius’ head trying to see if he’s acting differently in any way that would give some sort of indication as to how he’s feeling. Whether he will be the one to start the conversation or not.

‘Conversation’.

_So you’re gay? Or not-straight? Or was it just a moment of panic where you didn’t want to reject me in case I accidentally spelled myself away from you and drowned? And we’re not friends, but also you don’t want to friend-breakup-with-me, so where exactly does that leave us? You also never really said anything to me after I admitted I’d been in love with you since fourth year so maybe I could get some clarity on that, too?_

Albus wants to cast obliviate on himself. That would be less painful than having a sentient mind at the moment, allowing himself to run over these questions and memories and thoughts over and over and over. He feels exhausted and all they’ve done today is sit on a train and apparate to a few different stations. Well, he supposes, they did go to Pompeii, too.

This trip is draining everything out of him.

“So,” Scorpius finally speaks after unpacking some of his things. He comes out with a cap in his hands, fingertips brushing over the embroidered ‘S’ on the front. “Athens has a lot going on. And we’re only here for today. So… we either cut down our itinerary or head out soon to try and get everything in.”

And… _ah_. So not the conversation Albus wants. He can wait.

(He can’t).

“Exactly how much is ‘a lot’? Because I might implode.” Albus says.

Scorpius smiles. “You’re dramatic,” he says, perching next to Albus on the bed. “Well… there’s Acropolis. Which is pretty big. Then the Temple of Poseidon. There’s a neighbourhood called Plaka, which seems pretty cool. There’s also a place called… um…”

Albus stares at Scorpius as he trails off. “What?” He asks.

“It’s called Delphi,” Scorpius says, staring at a painting on the wall opposite them. “It’s a sanctuary. It’s not technically in Athens, but this is the closest place to it that we’re staying. And… I know the name doesn’t have the best connotations, but it’s an incredible place. It has a rich mythological history but also a wizarding history. So much to do with divination which – I know – you don’t really like. But I… I think we’d be able to feel really connected to the earth and ourselves if we go.”

Albus swallows thickly. “Delphi,” he says slowly. The name feels foreign on his lips; he’s spent a short lifetime trying to wash his mind free of that name. “You wanting to get your future told again, or something? Reading the stars wasn’t enough?”

Scorpius smiles. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not.” Albus grins, the corners of his lips curving a little more as they always do when he’s trying to irritate Scorpius.

“I, uh,” Scorpius continues. “I read something a while ago, when we were in Hogwarts. I got Professor Longbottom to sign a slip letting me into the restricted section–”

“You _what_? Scorpius!”

“What? I was Head Boy, I had to exploit the privileges I got being the most trusted student in the entire school,” Scorpius says with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying. I found this book in the restricted section talking about Greece and the emergence of dark magic. Do you remember my dad mentioning it before we left?”

Albus shrugs. “Vaguely,” he says. “A _lot_ has happened since then.”

Scorpius laughs. “Annoying,” he smiles. “But anyway, Greece has always been very definitively on either end of the stability spectrum. People were either perfect wizards or witches or they went dark. And some of the ones who went dark… went interestingly dark. They messed a lot with Oracles and Seers to try and force them to tell them their futures… tell them if they’ll be successful in dark magic. And to try and fight the dark magic the Seers manipulated their abilities to tell them the future to do it in a way that would make and break them.”

“In what way?” Albus asks.

“They would get them to stand under this incredible archway and told them not to move. Then the Seer would tell them their future, vaguely, and the dark wizard or witch would see the future playing out in front of them. A bit like ghosts, but the mirages weren’t real. But then at the end of the future they would show them three tragic events. Utterly _awful_ things that would break someone’s heart or make them lose their mind. One of which would end up happening in their life, two of which wouldn’t. And the Seer would disappear before telling the person which one of the three events was real,” Scorpius continues. “So the Dark wizards would then go through life knowing their future but also knowing that something terrible would happen to them or someone they love. But they wouldn’t know what exactly. And the paranoia… the fear… the utter terror at not knowing when or what would happen sent some of them insane. A lot of the dark magic disappeared in Greece at the time because of it.”

“That’s…” Albus says. “Dark.”

Scorpius nods. “And it all happened at the sanctuary of Delphi.”

“And you want to go there… why, exactly?”

“Because apparently if you stand under the arch, the ghosts of the Seers will still do the ritual. Still show bits of the future and show you the hypothetical situations.”

Albus’ mouth drops. “What? No. Scorpius, that’s ridiculous,” he says. “No way, you’re not doing that.”

“Why not? It’s harmless.”

“You quite literally just told me exactly why it _is_ harmless. It drove people mad!” Albus declares. “You are not standing under that archway, are you kidding me?”

Scorpius frowns at him. “It’s part of the adventure.”

“Since when was potentially mentally traumatising yourself more than you already are part of the adventure?”

“I’m not arguing with you over this.”

Albus glares. “I’m not arguing with you, Scorpius. I’m merely stating a fact: you’re not standing under a haunted archway that will show you potential awful situations that happen in your life. That’s just, like… a really cruel version of two truths one lie, and it’s not going to end well.”

“You’re not going to stop me standing under the archway.” Scorpius says.

“You say you don’t want to argue with me over this yet you know for certain you’re pushing my buttons right now,” Albus says, slow and deliberate. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Scorpius smiles at him, gently setting his hand on Albus’ knee. “I appreciate the concern, but it’ll be fine.”

Albus glances from the hand on his knee to Scorpius’ bright, burning eyes. “You’re not going to distract me by touching my knee,” he says. “Just because you know I’m in love with you doesn’t mean you will be able to twist my feelings to your benefit. I’ve been controlling my emotions for three years, Scorp, that’s not going to change now.”

Scorpius sighs. But doesn’t take his hand away. _Interesting._

“Why can’t you see that this will backfire?”

Scorpius groans and lets himself fall back onto the bed. “How? How will this backfire?”

“I’m sorry, but did I miss some kind of switch where you started being the bad, impulsive one and I started being the one with common sense?” Albus asks.

Scorpius just stares at him.

“Scorpius: think about what it could show you,” Albus says. “Like, think about the worst thing imaginable. And then multiply that by a thousand. If these Seers and Oracles created hypothetical, and _real_ in case you forgot, situations that made _dark wizards and witches_ – those really fucked up people who aren’t afraid of anything and enjoy pain and danger – lose their minds, imagine what they’ll do to you.”

Scorpius stares at him again. “Look, you have a point, I’ll admit,” he says. “But… it will be interesting.”

Albus sighs. “We can go to this sanctuary if you want but if I see you step underneath that archway I will hit you with a body-binding curse, got it?”

Scorpius faux gasps. “Albus Potter threatening to perform magic in front of Muggles? I truly must be doing something scandalous.”

“I _hate_ you,” Albus mutters, throwing a pillow onto Scorpius’ head. “Now if you want us to have any chance at visiting all these places before it turns dark perhaps we should leave.”

“Right you are,” Scorpius says, gently ruffling Albus’ hair as he sits up and goes to get his coat. “Also, you don’t hate me.”

Albus watches him. “I could hate you if I tried.”

“That would take a lot of effort and,” Scorpius says. “As we know, you preserve your effort for important things.”

“You’re talking _way_ too much for someone who should be getting ready to leave,” Albus says, pinching Scorpius’ cheek. “Ready?”

Scorpius smiles at him. He truly is the sun, Albus thinks. Bright and great and wonderful. Filling every crevice of any room he enters. “Ready.”

⚡

Albus doesn’t have the words inside him to try and articulate how truly stunning Greece is. He’s been trying. The only thing whirling around in his mind has been attempts at finding vocabulary that does justice to what he’s looking at.

The best thing he can think of is that Greece is almost as pretty as Scorpius. Which… sort of makes him want to gag, because it’s incredibly cliché and if he ever heard anyone else using a simile like that he would definitely judge them.

But it’s true. The grandeur that the pillars of Acropolis exude is so similar to the warmth and security that Albus feels when he thinks of holding Scorpius’ hand. The fine white stone to Scorpius’ sturdy skin is the only comparison Albus thinks really encapsulates how he feels when he looks at the structures.

Greece is warm. And odd. Different. Busy. _Unique_.

Adjectives he would use if someone asked him about Scorpius.

“This is a bit cool, isn’t it?” Scorpius says, hidden behind the viewfinder of the camera.

Which Albus is grateful for since he is positive his expression would be one of adoration, and he isn’t too keen on the idea of tackling _that_ right now.

“Really is,” Albus says. “Very beautiful, too.”

Scorpius peeks at him over the top of the camera. Albus can’t see his lips but he knows he’s smiling.

Greece _might_ be the end of him.

⚡

It’s turning dark by the time they get to Delphi. Albus immediately shrinks into his frame a little as they arrive, fingers gently tugging the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and face scrunching into a displeased expression. Sure, the place is beautiful and under the setting sun the distant rock formations look like a beautiful painting that should be hung in a gallery, but Albus can’t see past the name.

And he also can’t see past the fact that Scorpius is one hundred percent going to try to stand under the arch the minute Albus isn’t looking.

The sky is a beautiful swirl of peach, pink and blue. Inky spirals of navy begin to spread from the bottom of the sky upwards, gradually painting over the rosy masterpiece and infiltrating the expanse above with darkness. From being so high up Albus can faintly see a few stars beginning to dot about, twinkling very slightly amongst the colourful sea they swim within.

Albus squints to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything, keeping his finger latched onto Scorpius’ belt loop, partly so he doesn’t fall over but mainly so he can keep a permanent eye on his friend while they’re here. He follows the sweet scent of Scorpius’ cologne as they walk past gaggles of tourists and step closer towards the sanctuary Scorpius has been desperate to see the second they got to Athens, and has to try and force himself to concentrate on reality instead of descending into a daydream built purely around how wonderful Scorpius smells.

Once they reach the sanctuary Albus is annoyed that he actually likes it. For some reason he’d thought that the place having a less than nice name would mean it wouldn’t be a place of interest. But, no. It’s arguably even more magnetic thatn Acropolis. The geometric essence that swarms the place, from the perfectly placed rocks to the symmetrical formation of the arch in relation to the elevated platforms that lead to it, is impossible to look away from. The fact this spot of utter genius exists amongst the delicate mountains of Greece and the emerald green trees that detail the landscape makes Albus feel all weird inside. It’s as if he’s existing in some impossibly precious place. Like he’s blessed to wander over the artistic sanctuary, because it is so magical that it exists in the first place.

Albus is only drawn back to reality when Scorpius’ pace quickens.

He looks to where Scorpius is leading them and groans. “No,” he says. “Stop.”

“I’m going to look at it.”

“But you’re _not_,” Albus says. He gently wraps his fingers around Scorpius’ wrist and pulls him to a standstill. They stare at each other, Albus somehow feeling miles taller than Scorpius even though he has always been the shortest of the pair. “You’re going to take me there under the guise of _just looking_ and then the minute I get distracted you’ll stand under it.”

Scorpius sighs. “Whatever it shows me won’t break me, Al,” he says. “Besides, nobody even knows if it’s true. I might stand under it and nothing will happen.”

“Yeah, okay. Or you’ll stand under it and something will happen. And I do not share your confidence that it won’t break you,” Albus says. “You’re strong, of course. But you don’t know what it will do.”

Scorpius looks at him. So Albus looks back.

Then Scorpius leans in and kisses him. Albus lets it happen for a few moments, purely out of shock and sheer enchantment that _Scorpius Malfoy is actually kissing him again_, but gently pushes him away soon after.

“Stop doing that,” Albus says half-heartedly. “I’m not a fan of you using this whole me being in love you thing against me.”

“I’m not.” Scorpius says.

Albus rolls his eyes. “You are. You think if you kiss me I’ll forget about what you’re planning on doing.”

“I’m _not_.” Scorpius reiterates.

Albus stares at him.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Scorpius says. “So I did.”

Albus crosses his arms over at his chest and tries to see through Scorpius’ eyes to read his soul. It doesn’t work; so now he’s stood on the edge of this sanctuary with the taste of Scorpius’ cherry lip balm on his lips and a million different thoughts whirling through his mind.

“I won’t stand under the arch, Al,” Scorpius finally says. His breath is minty as it dances over the tip of Albus’ nose. “I promise. If you don’t want me to stand under the arch, I won’t.”

And Albus smiles. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”

The two of them climb the couple of steps to get atop the platform that rises them a few metres into the air and places them among the different rocks that outline the diameter. In front of them three pillars, with one rock across the top, form a bisected archway that reaches endlessly into the sky. Between the pillars Albus sees the dreamy landscape of Greece once more. Blue and green and grey mountains that have their tips tickled by fluffy clouds. Stars that sparkle from among the peaks. A gentle whistle in the air that floats around them when the wind whips past the jagged edges of the rocks.

“Don’t you just _feel_ connected to… something?” Scorpius asks. He digs through his bag to pull out a tourist guide and begins reciting facts about the place that sound far too magical to even be something that a Muggle would be able to think up.

But then, Albus supposes, Greek mythology seems to be something that transcends the boundary between Muggle and magic. So he feels weirdly connected to the Muggle part of his bloodline as he stands here, walking up and around the perimeter of the platform until he is standing before the archways.

Albus spins on his heel and watches as Scorpius walks from place to place, occasionally taking out the camera to take a few pictures. He drags his fingertips over the pages of the guide he reads, squinting as he looks up to see whatever it is the words are describing. Occasionally he looks over to Albus and smiles. And Albus can’t take it.

In the middle of nowhere surrounded by impossibly ancient structures, the sky silent and the air slightly cold on the back of his neck, Albus finally has the chance to process everything that’s happened to him recently. More significantly what’s happened between him and _Scorpius_.

He doesn’t know whether he loves or loathes this odd transitional state they’re in where it’s apparent they can be affectionate with each other but they haven’t yet spoken about the intricacies of the situation. Of course there is a certain joy knowing he could walk straight up to Scorpius and fulfil any dream he’s had for years, but then Albus thinks about how unfulfilling and borderline painful this all is. Because what he feels for Scorpius isn’t just simple liking him. It’s complete and utter devotion. And as great as it is to be able to look at him without worrying about being too soft with his gaze, Albus does wish he could establish whether any of the actual emotion is being reciprocated.

Albus trips over one of the steps behind him and tumbles onto the floor. He stretches his hands out to support himself as he falls, his palms scratching along the gravel and covering with paper-thin cuts that sting more than Albus can handle. He grimaces as he stands up and walks a few paces backwards to put some distance between himself and the steps, quietly cursing as he looks at his palms and watches tiny droplets of blood trickle through his life lines and stain the sleeve of his jacket.

“_Albus_!”

He looks up at the sound of Scorpius’ anguished voice, blinking a couple of times when he sees two Scorpius’ in front of him. Wait, no. _Three_ Scorpius’. And another body a little away. One with dark hair and a broomstick by their side.

Albus blinks and goes to move, but his feet don’t budge. He doesn’t know why, but he’s stuck.

As he looks at the multiple Scorpius’ closer a couple of them seem foggy, as if he’s staring at them through glasses that are the wrong prescription for him. He can tell they are Scorpius, but he isn’t convinced they’re really there.

Then Delphi appears.

Real Delphi.

And Albus can’t breathe again. He watches as foggy Delphi reaches into her pocket, not looking at Albus, and pulls out her wand. One of the foggy Scorpius’ falls to the ground as a splash of green sparks fizz from the tip of her wand. Then Scorpius lies motionless, Delphi disappears, and Albus can’t breathe.

It’s at that moment he realises he fell under the archway.

The real Scorpius, or, at least, the Scorpius Albus _thinks_ is real, is staring at him in horror. His tourist guide is cast carelessly to the side, hand instead gripping his wand as if he could cast a spell to stop this situation from happening.

Albus only looks away from Scorpius when the brown-haired body on the floor turns magically on the floor. The limbs are lifeless, a few of them contorted into angles that aren’t possible, and as Albus finally makes out the face he loses balance and falls again to his knees.

The body is James.

James. Dead. Broomstick at his side, broken limbs and a pool of shimmery and foggy blood surrounding him.

Albus puts two and two together in his mind. Falling from his broomstick, nobody to catch him or stop him. Helpless.

James’ body is magically turned away from him again and Albus looks to the third and final image. He is confused when he sees the third Scorpius is joined by someone else. Someone with ginger hair, strands of grey beginning to show. His grandpa.

Albus deflates.

The two of them, foggy Scorpius and foggy Arthur, stare at him. They’re the first of the three mirages to actually acknowledge his existence. They speak but no sound comes out. Albus squints to try and read their lips, but it hurts to stare as their gazes are so awful it burns his heart.

_Never loved you._

_Unlovable._

_Beyond being able to love_.

Albus’ gaze blurs even more as he starts to cry. He is able to cast one last look at the ghostly images of Scorpius and his grandpa before they look away and, just like that, all three images disappear.

Though Albus isn’t on his feet he can feel the glue that has stuck him to the spot disappear. He feels like he can breathe again, like he can move even though he doesn’t want to.

Albus hears as Scorpius comes running up to him. Albus gladly wraps his arms around Scorpius’ shoulders as Scorpius drags him from under the archway and lays the two of them on the grass. Scorpius pulls out his wand once more and heals the cuts on Albus’ hands, cuts Albus had forgotten about among the pain of the images he was being shown, before kneeling in front of his friend.

“I’m so sorry,” Scorpius says as he scoops Albus up into his arms. “I am so, so, so, _so_ sorry.”

Albus shakes his head and the rest of his body follows suit. He’s shaking and he can’t stop.

“For bringing you here, for bringing _us_ here. I am so sorry, Albus,” Scorpius is speaking quickly. He wraps Albus up in his jacket and holds his cheeks in his hands, staring at him. “You’re okay. It’s not real. That wasn’t real.”

“It… it was, Scorp,” Albus says. He doesn’t even recognise his own voice. “One of them… one of them is real.”

Scorpius doesn’t say anything in response, either for lack of words or lack of desire to say what they both know is true. Instead, he tightens his grip on Albus and apparates them back to their hotel.

⚡

Albus isn’t surprised when the clock strikes three in the morning and he is still awake, stuck on his back staring up at the ceiling. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a fulfilling night’s sleep. But, he thinks, when your life is seemingly in constant turmoil it makes sense that your body would never shut down.

It’s almost some kind of sick joke, in his opinion, that he would spend so long convincing Scorpius to not touch the arch only for himself to accidentally fall under it moments later. It was the most predictably _Albus_ thing to happen in his life. As if his life weren’t confusing and miserable enough already, he now has those visions compounding the problem in his mind.

And he can’t sleep.

Albus tosses and turns under the covers to try and find a position that feels mildly comforting to no avail. A little sliver of moonlight paints a stripe over his face through the slightly open curtains, and Albus stares at the hidden window for longer than he can remember. He wonders what’s happening in the streets below them, whether there are any late night owls sauntering the streets of Athens and enjoying the quiet, tepid nature that the Grecian streets offer at such a time. Whether there are any locals coming home from work after a late shift. Whether anyone else down there is being tortured by their own mind.

“Do you want a sleeping draught?” Scorpius’ quiet voice shakes Albus to his core.

He shivers under the bed and sits upright at the sound of Scorpius, quietly groaning as he casts a quiet _lumos_ and lights up the room with the tip of his wand. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Kind of difficult to sleep for longer than five minutes when the person beside you is clearly distressed,” Scorpius says. He pushes back his fringe as he sits up, propping his pillow against the headboard to get comfortable. “So… sleeping draught?”

Albus shakes his head. “I’d rather not.”

“Okay,” Scorpius murmurs. “So do you want to talk about it?”

Albus shrugs. “What is there to say?”

Scorpius looks sadly at him. “Nobody knows how much truth there is to the visions these days. The Oracles aren’t alive anymore. Whatever is haunting the sanctuary could be twisting the future to their benefit or making it up entirely.”

“Or it could be accurate and one of those awful things is going to happen.”

Scorpius sighs. “You shouldn’t focus on them.”

“Shouldn’t I?” Albus asks. His question comes off a little harsher than he intends, and he sets his hand on Scorpius’ knee to wordlessly apologise to him.

“I know it’s not that easy. But the more you think the more–”

“It’s obviously the one of James,” Albus interrupts. “I mean… the other two just aren’t possible. My grandpa is dead, so there’s no way he could ever tell me he doesn’t love me or that I’m unlovable. And, well, I’d sort of hope you’d never say that to me.”

Scorpius’ smile turns into a sad one. “I wouldn’t.”

“And the… the Delphi one…” Albus continues, voice cracking as he says _her_ name. “She isn’t here. And she never will be here. So that one is impossible…”

Scorpius doesn’t speak.

“So it has to be James,” Albus says. “James is going to by flying and fall from his broomstick and it’s going to kill him. It’s the only one that can happen. And now I know my brother is going to die but I don’t know when or where so I can’t even… I can’t even do anything about it.”

“Al… love…” Scorpius whispers. “You wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway. Death can’t be prevented, you know this.”

Albus blinks back tears. “I know.”

“James isn’t going to die.”

“But the visions…”

“I _know_ what the visions showed. I saw them,” Scorpius says. He leans close to Albus, cupping his cheeks in his hands. “There is no concrete proof that any of what you witnessed was true. No wizard or witch has ever confirmed that what happens under the arch occurs in real life. You are fine. I am fine. And _James_ is fine. I promise.”

Albus nods after a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says, placing his pillows back down. “Try and sleep. It will make you feel better.”

Albus pulls the covers back over his body as he lies down once more. He feels as Scorpius gently pulls him back, an arm wrapping around his side and grabbing the fabric of Albus’ shirt over his heart. Albus clasps Scorpius’ hand with both of his; his heartbeat ricochets through both of their hands, and they fall asleep at some point.

Entwined. As always.

⚡

**4th August **

_James,_

_Hi. Again. I know I only wrote to you yesterday but… I just wanted to do so, again. I think because it’s coming so close to the end of the trip I’m feeling rather homesick and all I kind of want to do is just be back so I can see everyone and know that everyone is okay._

_Greece has been nice so far. We explored Athens yesterday which was… intense. And we spent today at Olympia. It’s mind-boggling how much ancient stuff one country can host. There are so many old buildings and structures in Olympia it took pretty much all day for us to get around all of them. And the blend between Muggle history and wizarding history is immense._

_Although, I guess, there is a lot of crossover between the histories. I realised yesterday that Greek history is clearly something we have in common with Muggles. _

_But anyway. _

_I think the most interesting place we visited today, in my opinion, was the ancient stadium. It’s a relatively plain place in comparison to other parts of Greece. There are no extreme structures or beautiful pillars or any notable architectural details, but the history of it is incredible. Obviously the Muggles used it for sporting events in the ancient Olympic Games (something the tourists were all really excited about) but the wizarding history is way more interesting._

_Apparently Greece has a really cool balance between dark magic and good wizards. And at the stadium, back in the day, old dark wizards and witches would duel each other on the grounds when Muggles weren’t around. They would test spells they’d made themselves and see if they were successful. Scorpius told me how groups of dark wizards would come and watch, as if it was a sporting event, and would cheer on the duel. I think the death toll was over a thousand before the magical governing body tackled the issue and shut the duels down. _

_There’s a book that Scorpius has where it talks about all the known spells that were invented and utilised in duels at the stadium. Really interesting stuff, even if it was mildly terrifying to think about. _

_Other than that Olympia just has a lot of temples. Temple of Zeus, Temple of Hera. Zeus must have been a rather popular person to have a temple as pretty as that one built for him. Greece is a wonderful place to come if you ever want to feel insignificant, but in a good way._

_Everything is so large and mighty and towers over you that any problem you have feels significantly smaller. Ever since coming here I’ve obviously still been thinking about home and grandpa, but I feel now like I’ll grieve and be able to move on, sort of. Because if things exist in this world that are so large and old and incredible, then I, too, can live through this. _

_I don’t mean to ramble on, I just miss you, I guess? I’ve been thinking about you, and Sofia, a lot recently. I would love to come back to Barcelona pretty soon, but I know when I get back home I need to actually sort my life out instead of waltzing around Spain again._

_Are you okay? Is Quidditch going well, still? I hope so. _

_Sorry if my constantly writing to you is annoying. I love you a lot, and I sort of didn’t realise how much I missed having you around until I spent those couple of days with you._

_You’re the best, James._

_And I know emotions aren’t really our thing, but I’m ignoring that for right now, because I love you!_

_I love you I love you I love you. You’re the greatest brother ever._

_And, yeah. That’s it._

_Love you. See you soon. Please let me know when you get this._

_Al._

⚡

They’re sat on the balcony of their hotel room sharing a serving of courgette balls over sips from bottles of beer they picked up from a random shop down the road. Albus is probably – definitely – a bit tipsy, and Scorpius is getting there, too. And it’s an awful situation, the two of them definitely shouldn’t be drinking alcohol in the middle of this relationship crisis they’re experiencing, but here they are anyway.

“I feel like I’m a completely different person to who I was when I left home,” Albus blurts out. His voice tastes alcoholic on his tongue, which is an _odd_ sensation, and he doesn’t know if the sentence even makes sense. But he says it anyway. “Nothing that significant has even happened, but it’s like… that naïve little Albus who left Hogwarts feeling confused and lost is now a distant memory.”

“You’re not confused anymore?” Scorpius asks, tossing a courgette ball into Albus’ mouth.

Albus shakes his head as he chews. “Merlin, no. I’m still confused, but for different reasons.”

Scorpius laughs. “Makes sense,” he says. “And I agree. You’re sort of a completely different person. Or, well, a different _version_. Like a newer version. You know how books get republished with up to date information? You’re, like, a new edition of the Albus Potter book.”

And… yeah. Scorpius is tipsy, too.

“How am I different?”

Scorpius stares at him. “You’re gay, now.”

“I’ve always been gay.”

“Not in my world.”

“Okay,” Albus says. “Fair point.”

“And, you know… you’re like…”

Albus smiles. “I know.”

Scorpius looks at him. So Albus looks back. And then he thinks, _fuck it_, and kisses him again. He wouldn’t if he was sober, Albus knows that for certain. But isn’t that why alcohol was invented? To give him… what is it the Muggles say? Dutch courage?

Scorpius gently brushes his thumb over Albus’ cheekbones.

He could do this forever. Until the sun burns out and the stars fall from the sky. Until all the oxygen runs out, until he can’t breathe. It would be worth it, though. Dying kissing Scorpius Malfoy would be the perfect representation of his life. Getting into odd situations, normally because of the sweet boy he would do anything for.

_Yeah_.

He could do this forever.

⚡

**5th August**

Albus has read that Santorini was a renowned, romantic place. A natural wonder of the world that seemed to douse everyone in a romantic spirit they didn’t know they had or wanted. Their old Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts had married someone she met in Santorini, so Albus’ preconceived ideas of the island are all overwhelmingly positive.

And the island doesn’t disappoint.

They arrive just at the sun rises over the horizon. Neither of them were able to sleep much after the last couple of days. Albus blames the chaotic combination of death-mirages and alcohol for their awful sleep patterns. But it’s worth it, he thinks, if it means they get to arrive to these beautiful islands early enough to see the sleepy towns wake up.

There is something in the air that washes his soul clean as they walk through the streets of Fira, the town Scorpius had chosen for them to visit. Apparently a lot of the best sightseeing spots, according to their tourist guide, are in the local vicinity of Fira. So here they are; walking with their knuckles bumping into each other’s and eyes glued to the peachy, orange sun that climbs up the horizon a million miles from them. The light catches the gentle sea in a soothing way. A way that shimmers and soothes and fills Albus’ soul with some sort of calm he didn’t think would ever be possible.

The quiet, sleepy sounds of early morning Santorini combined with the scratching of their shoes on the floor and Scorpius’ gentle breathing fills the clear air with a blanket of tranquillity. Albus pulls the sleeves of the infamous _Barcelona Bicorns_ jumper over his hands and watches as Scorpius does the same with a too-big, tucked in green jumper that Albus is positive was once his.

They walk past bleached white buildings, scaling tiny staircases that appear out of nowhere and lead them down tiny roads that feel like they shouldn’t be traversed by non-natives. Albus kicks a loose pebble along the path and the sun beats down on his neck. He tilts up his head, lets out a sweet exhale, and allows the morning sun to paint his cheeks golden and revive his soul with a burst of confidence he didn’t realise he had lost.

“Our boat to the crater is in half an hour,” Scorpius breaks the silence. When Albus opens his eyes Scorpius is right in front of him, breath tickling his cheeks and eyes staring into his soul. “We can pick up some snacks to have on the ride if you’re hungry?”

“Snack for the journey?” Albus jokes. Scorpius smiles ever so slightly. “I’m not hungry. We can just… head to the boat.”

Scorpius nods and gently ruffles up Albus’ hair. Albus slots his index finger through the vacant belt loop on Scorpius’ jeans, linking them together once more as they continue their walk to the port.

They travel past open windows, early morning sounds of kettles boiling and chairs scraping disturbing the silence that had settled over the island during the night, and Albus can’t help but imagine what a sweet life it must be to toss open your curtains and let in the beautiful golden rays of Grecian sun. He knows that it is technically the same sun as they get back home, but it _feels_ different.

Albus gently pets a few donkeys they pass right on the edge of the port, brushing his thumbs over their ears. They look exhausted, and part of him considers casting some sort of charm that means they won’t feel tired when they do their walking trips later in the day, but just before he gets his wand out Scorpius arrives at his side and gives him _that_ look. The look of _don’t-you-dare-get-us-into-any-problems-right-now_. So Albus just gently kisses the donkey’s head and follows Scorpius onto the boat.

They join a small group of other early riser tourists, nodding at them as they walk to the back of the boat and take their seats. Albus sits as close as possible to Scorpius, resting his head on his shoulder as he watches the boat crew pull up the ladder and set them on their journey to the crater. A girl sitting opposite them gives them a funny look, and Albus can’t tell whether it’s because they look like a peculiar pair or because they so clearly look like a couple, even though they aren’t one.

Albus just turns away from her gaze and folds himself further in Scorpius’ lap. Scorpius responds by draping an arm around his shoulders, fingertips fiddling with the collar of Albus’ jumper. Albus feels safe. Incredibly safe. The boat could sink and he feels content enough to believe Scorpius would be the life ring that saves him.

He really is rather smitten.

The approach to Nea Kameni is an odd experience. In contrast to the white-splattered buildings and the romantic aura of the main island, the crater is neutral. Different shades of brown and cream and black and grey all blending into one. The setting feels dangerous. Which makes sense, Albus thinks, since the volcanic crater would obviously be void of life, but it still feels odd. As if they’ve entered a completely different place and aren’t only a short ride away from the vibrant lifestyle of Santorini.

Albus holds out a hand to help Scorpius out the boat, smiling at the woman who gives them another odd gaze as they part ways.

They tag on the end of a guided tour group after paying their four euros for entry, and Albus pushes up the sleeves of his jumper as they start the steady incline up the volcanic crater.

He can’t think of words to describe how odd the atmosphere of the place it. It’s as if there is something following them around, something beating and growing and swarming in the air. Something that clings onto their skin and lingers in their mouth as they breathe through the physical exertion. Scorpius hands him a bottle of water for them to share, and somehow even the drink tastes ashy.

But the crater is wonderful in a much less aesthetic way than other parts of Greece they’ve seen so far. Though there is an essence of lifelessness that follows them around as they spiral up the crater and peek into the crevices where lava rocks lie and protrude terrifyingly into the air, there are specs of life that seem to remind Albus that even in the wake of utter destruction, there will always be something that will survive.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Among the clusters of brown and red volcanic rock that details the crater with sharp rises and falls and intimidating cliffs that could send them tumbling to their deaths, clusters of beautiful yellow flowers break through the ground. Stretching out from under the layer of ashy soil, their soft petals almost wave at the two of them as they walk by. Like little soldiers breathing even after war. A sign of hope and peace and survival.

Albus smiles at the flowers even though they can’t smile back.

“Isn’t this place beautiful?”

“Beautiful… odd… beyond comprehension.” Albus answers. Their fingertips brush as Scorpius takes the bottle of water from him, and they rest at the top of a particularly steep slope as the group wait for the dawdlers to catch up.

Scorpius rakes his fingers through his hair, strands catching the sunlight in a magnetic way that makes him glimmer like gold. Or diamonds. Or some other utterly regal material that can qualify as a decent descriptor for his beauty.

“Imagining this place on fire… I mean, you can still see bits of smoke over there,” Scorpius points in the distance. The hem of his jumper rises up and untucks from his jeans and the sliver of skin Albus gets to see almost drives him mad. “See, _this_ is what I love about being out here. You would never see anything like this back home. I really wish it could be my job to, like, travel and just talk about it.”

“I’m sure that actually is a job, Scorp,” Albus chuckles. He walks up to Scorpius and rests his head on Scorpius’ shoulder – an incredibly difficult task given their height difference. “At least in the Muggle world. My aunt Hermione has loads of different travel books her mum and dad gave her. You could always do that.”

“What? Ditch the wizarding world to become a Muggle travel writer?” Scorpius grins.

Albus feels bold. “Sure. You’d be a damn good one, I’m sure,” He says, planting a kiss to Scorpius’ cheek. “Anyway, the group is moving on. We don’t want to get left behind.”

Albus holds out his hand to lull Scorpius on, and Scorpius briefly touches their fingertips. Albus so badly wants to grip Scorpius’ hand and hold it as if he would never get the chance to do so again. But he settles for the moment of contact at the top of this crater.

They don’t have long at the top of the crater, under half an hour to walk and adventure and take photos. Scorpius is glued to the camera for a little while, snapping photos of the flowers and the view and of Albus with the view in the background. A kind Muggle man offers to take a couple of photos for them; Albus places his hand on Scorpius’ back and Scorpius winds his own hand behind to gently grip Albus’.

Albus’ smile widens.

“You two are so cute,” the man says, grinning as he hands the camera back to them. “You’re enjoying Greece, I assume?”

“Very much so,” Albus smiles. “More than I can describe.”

⚡

“Stop it.”

“No.”

“I will lift you up and dump you over the side of the boat if you don’t stop, Albus Severus.”

“Fight me, Malfoy.”

“I _will_!”

Albus ducks to avoid Scorpius’ grip, apologising as he bumps into a woman sat behind them on the boat back to the main island. The woman merely smiles at them, shaking her head.

“Don’t apologise for having fun,” she says. “I mean… at least I _think_ you’re having fun? Arguments are fun sometimes, right?”

Albus grins. “Definitely.” He says, just as Scorpius also says “not at all!”

“Ah, to be young and in love.” She says.

“In love?” Albus asks. His tone is much too surprised for anyone’s liking, and the woman looks back at them with a mortified gaze.

“Oh, God. Are you… not?” She asks. “Now I’m the one who is sorry.”

“No, no,” Scorpius interrupts, dragging both sets of eyes to him. “We are. There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“We are?” Albus asks.

Scorpius tilts his head to the side as he looks at him. “What?”

“In love?” The woman adds.

Albus’ head can’t keep up with turning from person to person. “Oh,” he says, slowly and deliberately. “I guess… yeah. He’s right. We are.”

She smiles. Scorpius smiles. Albus overthinks the implications of Scorpius saying that the two of them are in love.

Business as usual then, he thinks.

⚡

They make their way to Oia after the boat ride back to the island, sitting impossibly close to each other on the bus that shuttles them around the tracks that barely resemble roads. They shoot past the coastline, the noontime sun skating over the surface in bursts of amber and gold. Albus has his hand on Scorpius’ thigh and Scorpius occasionally brushes his thumb over Albus’ knuckles, and he really feels quite content.

Oia is a postcard. In fact, Albus thinks, he’s definitely seen the exact landscape of Oia on a card his Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur sent the family after their vow renewal honeymoon trip to Greece. The buildings are the whitest white Albus has ever seen, the colour so intense and pure it almost hurts to look at them for more than a few minutes. Domed rooves are painted a sleek blue, blending it with the gorgeous periwinkle sky that curves above them. The village seems built into the side of the cliff on which it sits, the staircases formed out of jutting pieces of rock that protrude from the Earth itself. Picket fences prevents tourists tumbling off the narrow pathways and the ground is a mismatch of natural rock and cobblestones that dig into the soles of Albus’ feet as they walk around.

“The sunset is supposed to be incredibly beautiful from here,” Scorpius says as they walk up a slope. Greece is much too hilly, Albus thinks. If he were to criticise any aspect of this beautiful country, it would be that: the hills. He isn’t athletic enough for this. “They do sunset cruises and all that, but I figured we could just sit and watch it from somewhere.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Albus says.

They stumble across the tiny wizarding community of Oia after Albus notices an alleyway appear out of nowhere down the shopping streets. Everything is an outdoor market, he observes. The shops are all stalls with the goods hanging from poles and makeshift rails that outline the spaces. Tourists bump into each other as they traverse the alleyways, picking up Grecian souvenirs and chatting with the wonderfully friendly locals who run the stalls.

Albus gently pulls Scorpius through the tiny alleyway and they end up walking straight into a hazardous but gloriously _magical_ space. To their left an old witch mindlessly stirs potions on her table, the cauldrons bubbling and releasing clouds of rainbow smoke into the ashy air. To their right cages rattle as a young wizard feeds little magical beasts and pets that Albus thinks are for sale, but he can’t actually tell. A tiny dragon – which he’s pretty sure is illegal – snoozes in the cage while another one, a bird with a crocodile’s tail and dolphin’s bottle nose, hoots melodically behind it.

Lights hang magically above them, bouncing in the gentle afternoon breeze and illuminating the faces of patrons and sellers with a hue of friendliness and comfort. From sweets to souvenirs to beasts to an antique book stall, the little street feels like Diagon Alley but with a thousand more secrets to be discovered.

Albus can hardly keep Scorpius away from the book stall, having to tug much too hard on his backpack to peel him from the crisp pages and worn spines. They bump into each other’s sides as they crane over the tables, pointing out little things that peak their interests like a necklace that _supposedly_ combined with Veratiserum when the ingots were melted down to form the chain links and therefore now forces every wearer to speak the truth and only the truth. And from another stall, a little food one run by a witch with huge circular glasses and sun-induced freckles that cover her entire tan face, they find a box of sweets laced with varying potions that can either force the consumer to dance, sing, kiss someone or do a variety of other humiliating actions. Scorpius mentions how catastrophic they would be if they came into the hands of any student at Hogwarts, and Albus is inclined to agree.

Though they never actively attended _all_ the common room parties, they went to their fair share in the last couple of years, and Albus can entirely imagine the whole student body of Hogwarts falling apart if those sweets ended up in the hands of a particularly mischievous prankster.

“Woah, look,” Albus says, gently tapping Scorpius’ shoulder as they pass a shadowy building tucked away from the rest of the stalls. The dark door and lack of sign posting sets off alarms in Albus’ mind, but he is too intrigued to consider walking away. “Doesn’t this look odd?”

“It looks dangerous.” Scorpius says.

Albus stares at him. “It’s just a rundown shop.”

“A rundown shop that clearly isn’t open and doesn’t have anyone inside.” Scorpius corrects. His hand finds its way around Albus’ wrist and attempts to tug him away from the door.

Albus resists, though, instead shaking his wrist free and lacing their fingers together instead. “Weren’t you the one who was talking about that magical archway for a whole day?”

“I was,” Scorpius says. “But you of all people should realise _that_ didn’t end up well.”

Albus rolls his eyes, pulling out his wand with his free hand. He casts a quiet _alohamora_ to open the door, stepping over the creaky boundary and coughing at the musty air that fills the shop. He is aware that they are currently breaking and entering, but they are technically only in Santorini for the rest of the day so if they get caught they will be fine.

“This is a bad idea.”

Albus turns to look at him as best as possible given the darkness. He hears Scorpius whisper _lumos_, and a tiny burst of light brightens their expressions with a shadowy glow. “It’s a fine idea. It’s an adventure,” Albus says, pressing a kiss to Scorpius’ nose. Something he still can’t quite believe he can do. “It’s a shop. It can’t be that harmful.”

Scorpius doesn’t look convinced, but does eventually surrender to Albus’ persuasiveness. He gently squeezes Albus’ hand before letting it go and heading into his own direction to explore the crooks and crevices.

Albus can’t tell what the shop is full of. There is a lot of furniture with jagged edges that keep prodding his thigh and probably tearing his jeans, and occasionally Albus’ lit wand catches a glass vial or jar. The floorboards creak and the furniture is coated in a thick layer of dust that Albus unfortunately breathes in everytime he bumps into a table or chair. The specs of dust fly around him like tiny flies that infect his vision. He swats the dust away, sniffing and coughing out the intrusion as he continues further into the shop.

He can’t see or hear Scorpius anymore, something that is mildly terrifying as he has time to ponder how big this shop _actually_ is. It didn’t seem that big, but he feels like he’s been walking for a decently long time, and the only sounds are his footsteps and a rapid bumping and rocking noise somewhere in the distance.

“Scorp?” Albus asks. He holds his wand higher as he walks towards the bumping noise, the tiny light illuminating the intricately carved details on coffee tables and ancient lamps that he passes. This place really is narrow, and Albus doesn’t understand why it’s still here and why there is so much _stuff_ in it.

He stumbles over a stool with vines and thorns sculpted into the legs, groaning as one of the little spikes cuts his shin. Then his wand settles on a tiny cabinet that is shaking and making the bumping noise, and he forgets all about the pain in his leg.

The cabinet is small. _So_ small. Solid black and sleek, tiny little scratches and dents in the corners showing the dark brown wood underneath the layer of pain. The nobs on the shelves are little skulls, and lines that look like scratch marks cover the top of the cabinet. Albus can’t imagine anything other than books and socks fitting into the cabinet, which is why he doesn’t understand how anything could be inside there to shake it. A bird, maybe? A tiny ferret? Another little animal that found itself inside the shop and took to the cabinet for respite and shelter?

Albus doesn’t know, but he feels awful that something could be trapped in the cabinet. He sets his wand on another table beside him, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands as he steps up to the cabinet and gently pulls open the top drawer of the cabinet.

“What are–” Albus starts, but is immediately knocked back off his feet as something bursts out the cabinet.

Albus rubs his hands over his eyes and props himself up on his knees as he looks up to see what came out of the cabinet, tilting his head to the side as he makes out Scorpius. “Scorp? What in Merlin’s name were you doing in the cabinet?” He asks.

Scorpius doesn’t answer. Albus thinks they’re looking at each other, but Scorpius’ eyes seem distant. Not really there.

“Hey,” Albus says, voice instinctively softening as he looks at his best friend. “What’s up? You okay?”

Scorpius still doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps to the side and reveals another figure. Albus squints, confused as to who else could be in the room, and his heart stops there and then as he makes out the slightly hunched, ginger-but-going-grey person next to Scorpius.

“Grandpa?” Albus asks. His voice is hardly there. A tiny squeak that fails him in that moment.

He can’t look away from Arthur. His grandpa who looks at him with a similarly distant expression as Scorpius is. Albus goes to reach for his wand, frowning when he can’t see it on the table where he left it. When he looks back, Scorpius and his grandpa are much closer – impossibly closer – and Albus flinches away until he bumps into a wardrobe.

“What… are you doing?” Albus manages to speak.

Scorpius crouches down and looks at him. Albus doesn’t recognise his eyes, but the person is unmistakably Scorpius.

“You know,” Scorpius says. His voice is intoxicatingly painful. “I really never cared about you.”

Albus stills.

“At all,” Scorpius continues. “Never cared about you, never loved you. Never actually enjoyed your company. I meant it when I said you are the most terrible friend.”

“Me, as well,” his grandpa says. And the sounds of his voice breaks Albus into a thousand tiny pieces. That voice. The voice he’s loved his whole life and wanted to hear every day since he left home. “You were my least favourite grandchild. Watching you be so useless, have absolutely no ambition… you really are the most disappointing child in the family. It’s so hard to love you when you are so utterly unlovable.”

“You’re beyond being able to love,” Scorpius adds. “James and Lily are worth so much more than you. You’re just a sore on the Potter name. Delphi was right… I can’t believe I stuck around. Spending everyday with you is a chore. You offer nothing.”

“You are nothing.” Arthur says.

“And you never will be–”

“Albus?” Scorpius’ mouth doesn’t move but his name definitely sounds. Albus blinks – perhaps he wasn’t paying attention, or something – because the Scorpius in front of him definitely doesn’t say his name. “_Al!_”

Then there’s another Scorpius at his side, pushing him out the way of original Scorpius and his grandpa. Albus is confused. Boggled, hurt and utterly broken at the core. Scorpius (real Scorpius? Albus doesn’t even know right now) keeps a hand on Albus’ shoulder, and when Albus looks back to the two taunting figures he finds them gone.

There, instead, lie two bodies on the ground. One blonde with a ponytail and one with dark, messy hair. Draco. And himself.

Dead.

Albus looks to Scorpius; Scorpius has a painfully tight hold on his wand as he stares at the two bodies on the floor, and Albus wants to be confused and question what on Earth is going on, but then Scorpius is staring at the sight in front of him with teary eyes and snapping a stern “_riddikulus_”, and it all makes sense.

The bodies disappear and turn, instead, into two peacocks. One that looks peculiarly blonde, and one that is darker and resembles Albus in an odd way. The peacocks come up to Scorpius and gently nip at his fingertips before waddling back to the cabinet. They hop into the top drawer and it closes, and the rattling noise starts again.

A Boggart.

Albus feels so stupid. _So_ stupid.

He deflates against the wardrobe and Scorpius settles beside him. Scorpius hands Albus back his wand, muttering something about it having rolled off the table ending up a metre or so away, and Albus whispers _nox_ to himself.

“I…” Albus starts. He drags his cuffs of his jumper sleeves over his eyes, the abrasive material tugging at his eyelids, but the pain distracts him from the pain in his heart so he doesn’t mind that much. “I didn’t realise it was a Boggart.”

“You wouldn’t unless you knew it was in there. That’s how they’re so powerful… you don’t know what’s going on until it vanishes,” Scorpius says, tucking his wand back into his jean pocket. “You alright?”

Albus nods. “Yeah…” He says. And he is, sort of. “Your… your one… it was…”

“Yep,” Scorpius says. He sniffs and shakes his head, throwing out the sadness that is clawing into his mind. “I guess once you lose one of the most important people in your life your one true fear becomes losing the rest of them as well.”

“The peacocks were sweet, though.”

Scorpius smiles as best he can. “You know me. I love a good peacock,” he says. “I suppose one good thing came out of that experience.”

Albus stares at him. “What? What on earth was good about that?”

“Well… your… your Boggart,” Scorpius says, gesturing vaguely to the cabinet. “It was your grandpa and me saying we don’t love you. And that was one of the mirages you saw under the arch. Which means James isn’t gonna die.”

“Oh,” Albus says. The relief in his voice is almost sickening. “You’re right. Well, thank Merlin for that, I guess?”

“I think this place is an old dark arts shop,” Scorpius says. “While you were busy over here I found a bunch of other dark-related furniture. There were some cauldrons that burn your skin when you touch them. And I also passed a cuckoo clock that instead of a cuckoo had a bewitched Augurey that shot jinxes at you. Luckily I avoided the jinxes and only got burned by the cauldron. But that explains why that is in here.”

“And it also explains why the shop is closed.”

Scorpius chuckles. “Yeah. It does,” he says. “This is what my dad meant, I think, when he said there is a balance of dark magic and normal magic. But the dark magic is very lowkey. You wouldn’t really know about this place unless someone told you.”

Albus nods. “Well… I for sure will never be coming back in here.”

“Yeah. Same,” Scorpius laughs. He sniffs one last time before standing up, holding out a hand to help Albus up. “Come on. Let’s go buy some souvenirs we definitely don’t need and go watch this sunset.”

Albus smiles as he takes Scorpius’ hand. Neither of them let go as they make it out the shop and lock the door behind him, and they both wind back through the thicket of wizards and witches to the main high street again, completely entwined and attached by the simplest, yet most loving, of touches.

⚡

They pick up some snacks from a little shop on the way to the spot they want to watch the sunset from. Albus sips a glass of lemonade and sneaks a few handfuls of some sweets they found from a Muggle stall bursting with boxes and packets and sweet-smelling treats neither of them could resist. The majority of the tourists walk in the opposite direction towards the caste, but Albus has honestly seen enough castles to last him a lifetime and leads them to a viewpoint over by the blue domes that gives a more scenic and panoramic view of the sunset.

They sit down on the cobbles and dangle their legs over the side of their perch, bags and glasses set between them as the sun begins to start its descent down the sky. Albus doesn’t know how the entire day has already passed them by, but there is an essence of exhaustion that blooms over Santorini at this time of day, and everyone’s footsteps seem to slow down and scuff more on the paths they walk.

From this high up they get a full view of the whole landscape. The blue domed rooves and white-washed buildings look too perfect to be real. It feels like Albus is in an art gallery looking at a beautifully realistic painting of Santorini. It is only the gentle movements of the cotton candy clouds that remind Albus this is real life and that he is truly living this dream.

Beside him, Scorpius rests his head on Albus’ shoulder. He fiddles with the cap of his bottle of water, spinning it on and off and back again, and Albus can tell there is something on his mind.

The sky curls with peaches and pinks. Only flavours of the familiar blue sky weave in the crevices where the late afternoon colours fail to bloom. It is a watercolour painting, the different shades blending crisply and languidly into each other. Drops of purples taint the very bottom of the sky where the horizon meets the water, spreading upwards like a leaky poison trickling through the veins of an unsuspecting person.

Though there are many people behind them snapping photos of the sunset Albus somehow feels it is only him, Scorpius and the sky. Three enigmas beating with life and vivacity in this late afternoon glow.

“This sunset looks like you.” Scorpius says.

Albus goes to move but doesn’t want to accidentally shake off Scorpius’ weight from his side. He flicks his eyes down to catch the contours of Scorpius’ cheek and the curve of his nose, but asserts his gaze mainly back on the sunset.

“That’s not a fair comparison for the sunset.” Albus jokes.

“Your self-deprecating humour really is a sweet aspect of your personality, Al,” Scorpius says. “But it is beyond a fair comparison. Beautiful sunset, beautiful person. What isn’t fair about that?”

“Well the sunset is a breath taking sort of beauty and I’m just… a plain little English boy with annoying hair.”

Scorpius chuckles beside him. “You’re dense.”

“Wow. And to think I thought we were having a sweet moment watching the sunset and you go and insult me in that way.” Albus smiles.

“If I was insulting you, Albus, you would know about it.” Scorpius says. His hand releases the bottle and holds Albus’ kneecap instead. The tip of his finger draws what Albus thinks are little love hearts over the material of his jeans, but Albus doesn’t allow himself to think too much in case he implodes.

“So we are having a sweet moment while watching the sunset?”

“We are.”

A little silence settles between them as they focus on the sunset. The sun creeps down the sky as if being controlled by a wand. Albus thinks he can see the giant star shudder sometimes, but it’s definitely just the rays blooming through the clouds. Regular stars begin to fade into view through the patchy pink brush strokes detailing the sky with fragile romantic shades, and Albus shivers from how beautiful the whole thing is.

“I think I’m bi.”

Albus looks at Scorpius this time. Scorpius doesn’t move his head from Albus’ shoulder, which is a relief, and his eyes are glued solely on the beautiful picture before him. Albus looks away from Scorpius, he feels too bright and bold to look at without sunglasses, and instead watches a little boat that sails in the sea far away from them.

“You do?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean… I think I always have. But it’s only recently I’ve genuinely taken the time to consider it in depth.”

“And the conclusion you’ve drawn is that… you’re bi?”

“Indeed,” Scorpius murmurs. “I thought for a while I was, like, just gay. But what happened with Rose… that wasn’t fake. I wouldn’t have been able to fake that. I don’t have the emotional breadth for that and I’m also not cruel. So that whole situation… meant I couldn’t be… you know.”

“I know.”

“But there was always _something_ that was biting at me in the back of my mind. Something that made me feel like I was lying to myself and lying to everyone,” Scorpius continues. “And it was, um, only when I started noticing you staring at me all the time that it started to make sense.”

Albus flushes. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Sorry.”

“No! No, silly,” Scorpius says. “Don’t apologise.”

“Okay,” Albus corrects. “Not sorry.”

Scorpius snickers beside him. “Anyway,” he continues. “When I realised you were always looking at me, more than a friend would, I started panicking that I didn’t mind too much. Because, like, in my head… it shouldn’t have made me uncomfortable, per say, but it should’ve struck me as odd. You know? That my best friend was always looking at me how I always thought _I_ should have looked at Rose. And then it hit me that I don’t mind it because I like it. And at some point during this trip I started allowing myself to enjoy your gaze rather than shy away from and ignore it.”

“And… you started looking back?” Albus dares to ask.

And Scorpius nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I started looking back.”

“I noticed,” Albus says. “Except I kind of thought it was because I always had something on my face.”

Scorpius laughs quietly. “No. Well, you might have a couple of times, but for the most part it was me just looking at you,” he says, “Which, like, I haven’t really thought about what that means for _us_. But I’m sort of just trying to take it one step at a time.”

“I guess this explains everything that’s been happening the last couple of days and, you know,” Albus gestures to Scorpius’ hand on his knee. “All this.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Scorpius says.

They wistfully watch the sunset for a few moments. The sky darkens with every second that passes and gradually the pink fades to red, to navy and then to indigo. Even as inky black stripes begin to feed into the sky and weave through the clouds, Albus can still only focus on the kaleidoscope of colours fading from his view.

“It feels nice to finally be honest with myself,” Scorpius speaks once more. He rustles the packet of sweets and puts a swirling green and blue circular one in his mouth. “It’s sort of exhausting pretending like nothing is going on in your head, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it.” Albus laughs.

He feels Scorpius swallow thickly beside him. “I wish I could tell my mum.”

They both stare up at the sky, away from the horizon where the sun is finally disappearing from sight. The stars gleam and smile and almost wave at them, reassuring them, perhaps. Albus looks away after a moment and frowns ever so slightly as he sees Scorpius’ glassy eyes.

“She does know,” Albus says. “I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah?” Scorpius asks. He looks at Albus for the first time in the whole conversation.

“Yeah.”

Scorpius nods and turns back to the horizon. Albus presses a kiss to Scorpius’ cheek and melts into his side. Life makes a little bit more sense now. Only slightly, though.

Because the life of Albus Potter is never going to be a smooth sailing one.

⚡

**6th August **

_Al,_

_Were you drunk when you wrote that letter? I thought you were staying off alcohol for a while? Not that I doubt your ability to be nice to me, but that was a lot of soppiness even for you._

_I’m fine. Quidditch is going fine, Sofia is fine. Everything is rosy and happy here. We miss you a lot, though. Even though you completely messed up the houseboat when you were here, it’s very empty with only two of us here. So you’re coming back soon whether you want to or not._

_I’m thrilled you’re having a fun time, though, and that you found time in the busy schedule to write to me. I’m glad we’re, like, best friends now. You’re a pretty great best friend to have. _

_Enjoy your final time in Greece. Sofia and I are coming to the Burrow in a few days to see the family after everything that’s happened. Mum hasn’t said when the funeral is, but I imagine it’ll be soon after we’re both back home. I think now is a nice time to introduce them to Sofia. I know grandpa never met her, but I think he would have liked her. And I think it would be nice for the family to meet her at this time. _

_So we’ll both see you soon then. _

_I hope you’re okay. Your letter really was very emotional – which I love – but it was very non-Albusy. Unless there is a new Albus Potter in there who is very in touch with his emotions. Either way, I love you. _

_And I’ll see you soon. Look after yourself, and tell Scorpius I love him, too._

_James x_

⚡

Albus’ heart feels a little heavy when he wakes up in the morning. He doesn’t move, doesn’t wake up Scorpius, and barely opens his eyes. But he’s awake for a few moments, and it settles in his mind that this is _it_. This is their last day in Greece. Their last day travelling.

And he doesn’t want it to end at all.

He can’t believe how fast the time has gone by. When they first left, a month seemed like a huge amount of time. Albus couldn’t imagine them doing enough stuff to fill every day. It seemed like an impossible task to have everyday be full and productive and enjoyable.

But they had. And they’d managed to do a lot of other stuff along the way too.

Albus hardly recognises the person that lives in his soul. He feels so changed and aged and experienced even though nothing has really been that different. Sure, he’s come to terms with this painful crush on Scorpius and they’ve both vocalised their identities and are on their way to… _something_. But other than that all he’s done is walk along European streets and eat a lot of food.

But perhaps that is over-simplifying the profound effect this trip has had on him.

He feels lighter. His heart feels happier and it’s as if he walks with a skip in his step he never knew he had before. Perhaps it is a wonderful think that he doesn’t necessarily recognise the person he sees in the mirror, because that means he’s shed she skin of the lethargic and difficult Albus who never knew how to feel or what to do or how to speak.

Perhaps it is positive that there is a new chapter of his life ready to be written when they go home. Because now there is no baggage on his back. He isn’t carrying anything in his rucksack except for memories to last a lifetime and experiences that are going to shape how he acts for every day that he exists on this earth.

And him and Scorpius… they are completely changed for the better. Still the same old Al and Scorp, but somehow a million times better.

And _James_. His mum. His whole family.

He didn’t think that being apart from them for a month would bring them closer than he ever imagined. But it has. And while the thought of leaving these beautiful beaches and walking back into a house swamped with magic and work and real life pains him, the idea of seeing his parents and siblings turns that emotion right on his head.

Despite the fact that what awaits him at home is a pool of grief that will most likely tear him to shreds, Albus knows that there is an entire world ahead of him. He knows he can get through the difficulties that lie ahead. Because he is new and different and sees himself in a new way.

There is a new version of him walking the barren roads of this Earth.

But he is stronger. And he is _happier._

And because of that Albus doesn’t feel too sad about leaving.

He can always come back to Greece. He can always come back to any of the places they’ve visited. And he will do so exhibiting this new, wonderful personality he wears proudly.

Albus Potter is living a pretty wonderful life at the moment, and as he turns back over to go back to sleep and is greeted with the tranquil, sleeping face of Scorpius, that thought is reinforced. Albus has a wonderful life full of wonderful people.

And it’s because of all _this_ that it has happened. How lucky he is to be so happy.

⚡

“So Mykonos is… different.” Albus says, fingertips drumming over the rim of his glass of water.

They’d taken it easy in the morning. Getting back from Santorini had been a task after they missed the departing time of their Portkey and had to try and fine a Floo route to get them to where they needed to be. By the time they got back to their rickety hotel room in Athens it had been almost three in the morning, and Albus knew that there would be no chance of them waking up in single digits even if the hotel was on fire.

And he was right. It was eleven when they rose and stretched out the sleepiness in their bones. They had a late (very late) breakfast downstairs in the hotel dining room and checked out of their room before heading to Mykonos by a Portkey they were on time for unlike the evening prior. Scorpius had found them a tiny apartment to rent in Mykonos for the evening, seeing as the nightlife here is said to be elating and they didn’t want to have to worry about travelling back via Floo, or something, when they were probably very drunk.

They sit opposite each other at an outdoor table at a restaurant in Little Venice, sharing a fresh seafood platter for lunch. To their side the exquisite sea gently laps over the rocks and crashes through the little gaps and spaces it can find. The water here is a radiant blue, the white crisp edges of the waves shimmering lick a necklace of pearls that split upon curling and colliding with the ground.

“It’s a lot more… youthful, I guess?” Scorpius smiles.

And he’s right. There are a lot of people their age or a little older walking around with flip flops that slap on the floor and joyful laughter that bounces off the white-washed walls and joins the melodic soundscape Mykonos has to offer. Compared to Santorini and Olympia the dynamic of Mykonos is completely different, and Albus can’t help but feel like he and Scorpius stick out ever so slightly like a pair of sore thumbs. Dressed in their standard shirts and fancy jeans they look the complete opposite to the short-skirt wearing girls and tight, swim-short wearing boys.

But they have never been the kind to care about fitting in, so Albus just shakes off the feeling.

“It makes sense, I suppose,” Albus shrugs. “With all the nightlife, and all that.”

“Oh, yeah. I image our evening is gonna be filled with those sorts of people,” Scorpius smiles. “On _Cavo Paradiso_, I believe? Paradise Beach.”

“Before that, though?” Albus asks, spiking his fork through a piece of fish to eat. He had been surprised that Scorpius had agreed to a seafood platter given his very specific feelings towards fish, but as he watches he notices Scorpius eating the salad and the other parts of the plate instead.

Scorpius pauses to take a sip from his water. “Mykonos Town and then Panagia Paraportiani, a church. There are three hundred and sixty five churches here, actually. And Panagia Paraportiani is one of the more famous ones. I know we’ve done plenty of churches already, but it feels like it’ll be nice way to just light some more candles and have a moment of reflection, you know? I’m sort of enjoying lighting a candle for my mum in every country we go to. It sort of feels like I’m spreading a bit of her spirit in every corner of the world so everyone gets to feel her warmth.

Albus smiles. “You are so wonderful.”

“Oh, hush,” Scorpius says, though the flush on his cheeks tells a completely different story. “Eat your gross seafood so we can go spend more money that we don’t have.”

⚡

Albus remembers once when Rose took him to something called an outdoor cinema to watch something called _Mamma Mia!_ He remembers it being set in Greece and having a bunch of singing and dancing people talking about a woman who was trying to find out who her dad was before she got married. The story was admittedly a little odd in his opinion, but he remembers loving the setting. The blue and white buildings and the decorative floor patterns.

So he is elated that Mykonos Town is the physical embodiment of that setting. Narrow little alleyways with circular patterns on the floor made from cobbles, rocks and rectangular slabs. The entire town is characterised by the two colours: everything is either white or blue. White buildings with blue window frames and doors. White pathways with blue fences that contain properties and distinguish public walkways from private land. In the distance the famous Mykonos lighthouses stand proud on a small cliff, thatched rooves and individual fans standing tall and proud apart from the rest of the town.

Albus pushes his way through the crowds, completely enamoured with the way that Mykonos makes him feel. He’s obsessed with the way that each place they’ve been to in Greece has managed to feel so _Grecian_ but have distinct elements that add a flair of individuality to the different cities. The white houses and the blue accents seem to be consistent of all places in Greece, but the different coastlines and locals and objects sold in shops characterise every city in its own wonderful way.

And Albus loves it.

He purchases a dreamcatcher from a little stall within the alleyway, carefully folding up the bag and setting it into the base of his rucksack. Normally he would walk straight past generic things like this, but he learned a sleeping charm a while ago and figured he could cast it on the dreamcatcher to help him with the sleeping patterns after how poor it has been recently.

Scorpius gives him a slightly sad look as he notices what Albus is buying, his hand gently rubbing Albus’ back as they bid the store owner goodbye.

They walk past stairwells full of pairs of shoes and white-walls covered in hand-painted plaques. Postcards dangle from pieces of string and little wooden sculptures stare out happily at the world, and it takes a lot of willpower from Albus to not buy everything he comes across. Though, he does pick up little animal sculptures he finds of his parents’ and James’ patronuses. He can’t quite believe he manages to find a stag, horse and lovebird sculpture, but he all but dumps his money on the counter in desperation to get them in his possession.

“Lovebird?” Scorpius asks, gently rubbing his finger over the curves of the sculpture.

“James’ patronus,” Albus says, smiling at Scorpius’ bewildered expression. “I know, we all thought it was odd, too. I was expecting something bold and brave like a lion, or something. It would be a very James thing to have his patronus be a lion.”

“I mean, yeah. That’s what I would’ve thought, too.”

“But, no. A lovebird. But it makes total sense when you learn about them,” Albus continues, cocking his head to the side to keep them walking on. “They are social, active and fiercely loyal birds. Loyal to family and partners. When they connect with someone they connect _hard_, and they get really lonely if they don’t have anyone to socialise with. They tend to mate for life, and are beyond protective of the people they love. And it’s just… _James_ all over, isn’t it? I mean, you saw him with Sofia. He was committed to her and her only. And you know how much he loves his family. It’s the most unlikely animal ever, but it really is perfect for him.”

“Merlin, it is,” Scorpius smiles. “That’s surprisingly adorable.”

“Right?”

“And he’s going to love that,” Scorpius says, nodding to the bird in his hands. “He’ll probably get all moony-eyed and cry a little.”

Albus laughs, gently flicking Scorpius’ nose as they squeeze past another stall and find themselves among an antique book sale. “Oh, no.” He says, but Scorpius is already zipping off the flick through the pages.

While Scorpius searches through the piles of books on offer and chats kindly with the woman running the stall, Albus picks up a little book of poems and flicks to a random page. He leans against the wall behind him, squinting at the page to take in the small, faded writing.

_And your laugher, ah, that seduces my heart _

_I promise you _

_Because whenever I turn to look at you _

_I feel going completely speechless…_

Albus looks up from the book and glances at Scorpius. Scorpius who is holding a book to his chest and giggling at the woman who has a hand on his shoulder. And he is speechless. Well and truly speechless.

⚡

(Albus ends up buying the book when Scorpius isn’t looking. It feels heavy in his bag; but heavy in a good way. In a way that makes his heart feel full and his soul alive with romance.)

⚡

Panagia Paraportiani looks a little to Albus like an igloo. Or a house that he and Lily would make out of snow when they were both at Hogwarts. It doesn’t seem real. Impossibly white with no creases or obvious signs of structure, it looks like an utterly impeccable igloo someone has dropped accidentally in Greece.

The church is circular shaped with a domed roof adding dimension and depth to the overall building. On the upper level is an archway with a bell hanging from beneath it, and if Albus didn’t know what he was looking at he wouldn’t have a clue that it was a church. The churches he has seen through his life have all been exquisitely built with huge towers and pillars and immaculate stained glass designs that shine out at the world. Not little crystal-clear white buildings that are hidden among a maze of narrow alleys.

Inside, tiny archways line the cramped, little space. At the head of the church, where the chancel is situated, a little table for candles is set up. Tiny chairs line the aisle and unlit chandeliers hang from the ceiling, with Albus reaching up to ever so gently flick one of the crystals dangling from the light. Scorpius playfully prods him in the stomach as a way to make him stop fiddling with and potentially breaking priceless artefacts, and the two of them complete the short walk to where the candles lie.

There are many burnt out, empty candles that sit on the chancel. Tiny, used matches scatter over the floor and Albus bends down to put them all in the bin beside the table. Above him, Scorpius picks out a couple of candles for them to light, setting them front and centre among the waning flames of older ones.

Scorpius strikes his match and lights his candle, spinning it side to side until he is content with the way the flame licks into the air. He carefully hands Albus the match, watching as the second candle is lit, too.

The two flames flicker side by side, a thin coil of smoke floating into the air above both of them. The tiny plumes of smoke entwine at some point, like two strands of DNA weaving together before dissipating into nothingness. The match sizzles as Albus puts it out in the bin, and he watches the candles for a few more moments before sitting down on the front row.

He feels peculiarly close to the spiritual world in this church. He has never been one to avidly follow religion, nor does he really understand the blurry boundaries between Muggle religion and wizarding religion, but the small scale of the church makes him feel closer to whatever transcendental forces exist in the world.

The chair beside him creaks as Scorpius’ settles down, his gentle puffs of breaths feeling like a familiar friend among all the silence around him. They watch their candles, their two little wishes of love for the ones they miss, and Albus can’t quite believe they’ve found themselves in this weirdly bittersweet position.

If someone had asked him how he imagined their time on this trip to be spent Albus never would have suggested much of it being spent lighting memorial candles in every church they could find. But, at the same time, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“You know,” Scorpius says out of nowhere. “When we were at Hogwarts I used to wish my mum had become a ghost.”

Albus looks at him, eyebrows pulled together in mild confusion. “Come again?”

“Like,” Scorpius clears his throat. “When I would see the Hogwarts ghosts… I used to think my life would be great if my mum had become one. So that when I went home I would be able to see her, even if she wasn’t really there. I thought it would be reassuring, or something? I was so broken at losing her that the thought of having even a half-version of her in my life seemed like an improvement.”

“What changed your mind, then?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Meeting Maria in Spain,” he murmurs. “When she mentioned how lonely life was now that all of her family have died and she can’t move on. Because I realised how selfish that thought was. Because, sure, having her around as ghost when I am alive is a wonderful thought. But when _I_ die, she is lost here forever. We can spend an infinite amount of time together once I pass, too. Whereas our time together with her as a ghost would have been limited to how long I lived.”

“That’s… a pretty dark thought for a teenager, Scorp.”

“I know,” Scorpius chuckles. “But my point is… well. I don’t even know. Just being in these churches and feeling so oddly close to her makes me think about how different life would be if she had become a ghost. Because she would have had many reasons to stick around, I guess. Her son and a husband she knew would suffer incredibly without her.”

“You know she’s still around, Scorpius,” Albus soothes. “Even if it’s not in the form of a person, or a ghost, or anything like that. She’s always around.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Albus says.

Albus watches as Scorpius pulls the chain out from under his shirt and fiddles with the ring. A melancholy silence settles between them, and Albus can’t summon any words that feel worthy enough to interrupt Scorpius’ individual moment of grief.

So, instead, he just loops his arm around Scorpius’ shoulder and gently rubs his back, hoping that the gentle circular motions convey his utter devotion, commitment and empathy. The way Scorpius melts into the touch reassures Albus that at least _some_ of that emotion is being communicated.

And that’s enough for him.

⚡

Albus is going to burst. He is a balloon that is being inflated with too much air and he is going to pop there and then and scatter around the room in ribbons of elastic and latex.

All because Scorpius… Scorpius is being _Scorpius_.

He’s stood in front of the mirror fiddling with his belt. This damn boy and his stupid _belts_ are going to end Albus, he is certain. He thought he would die by getting into some really pathetically odd situation where he curses himself or he comes across another child of Voldemort and actually talks too much he gets killed, but no. It’s going to be his silly little best friend and his belts.

Tragic, honestly.

His life would be much easier if Scorpius didn’t care about clothes. But the world isn’t kind to him. So Albus has to sit on the bed while he watches Scorpius tuck a peach, slightly sheer, shirt into a pair of _too_-tight jeans before weaving a belt with rose-details embossed on the leather and an A-shaped buckle through the loops. And his _hair_. Albus could write a thousand love poems about the way Scorpius’ hair curls slightly from the humidity of the air and delicately brushes over his forehead. In fact, he thinks, there is probably a poem in the book he bought earlier that articulates all of this in a much better way than he could.

“You know,” Albus says. He’s feeling uncharacteristically bold once more. “You’re probably the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Scorpius looks at him through the reflection of the mirror. He brushes his palms over his shirt, and the way the chain and ring is visible from under the shirt makes Albus go all weak in his knees.

“I am?” Scorpius asks.

Albus nods. “You are,” he says. “I love you and your excessive belt collection very much.”

Scorpius grins as he looks away from Albus and goes to lace up his shoes instead. “My belt collection is something that I’m rather proud of,” he says. After he stands up he walks over to where Albus is and sits down on his lap which is… not something they’ve done before, but Albus isn’t going to complain. “You know this buckle?” He asks, one arm holding onto Albus and the other one pointing to the buckle.

Albus glances at the buckle and fights a blush. “Yeah?”

“Guess what the A stands for?”

Albus gently presses his nose to Scorpius’ cheek. “I don’t think I need to.”

He can tell Scorpius smiles without seeing it. Then there is a hand on his jawline pulling his lips from Scorpius’ cheek and directing them to Scorpius himself, instead.

And the kiss is sweet and chaste and perfect in every way. “You’re right,” Scorpius smiles. “I don’t think you need to guess, either.”

⚡

A switch is flicked at some point during the day at Mykonos where the vibe changes from casual tourist location to utter eclectic festival place. Albus hardly recognises the streets when the two of them step out later in the evening to head to Paradise Beach. There is no space for him to hold onto Scorpius’ belt loops, so he keeps a gentle grip on Scorpius’ fingertips instead, using the touch as a guiding light to keep them from getting separated among the clusters of young adults and teenagers swarming the narrow paths.

Mykonos in the day was blue and white and gentleness. Mykonos in the evening is a rainbow of neon and colour and bursts of vibrant lights. Where Athens descended into a blanket of sleepiness and Santorini bloomed into a bouquet of romance and fragility, Mykonos explodes into a sensually bewildering atmosphere. Sounds everywhere, sights to be taken in at every turn of the head. Albus hardly believes that they’re still in Greece.

Out of nowhere great light structures have been brought into place so that the club atmosphere floods the streets and not just the buildings. The drunkenness cannot be contained to four walls, with glasses scattered over the floor and streamers trailing behind the feet of partygoers like wedding veils dragging along the aisle. It’s odd.

Mykonos is odd. Albus thinks he likes it.

They soon find themselves squashed between a thicket of alcohol-scented young adults dressed in cargo shorts and ribbed dresses, and Albus assumes they’ve reached the centre of this city-wide party. He can barely taste the saltiness of the sea air on his tongue as he goes to speak to Scorpius, his senses instead being overtaken by a suffocating stench of beer and spirits. The music is loud and Albus feels like he’s getting drunk purely based on the aroma filling him from the outside in; it’s going to be a long night, he thinks.

Scorpius reappears – not that Albus had even noticed him go – with two cups in his hands. He sips from one and hands the other to Albus, soundlessly clinking the rims together as they cheer nothing. The drink is bitter and stings his throat as he swallows, and Albus swipes a hand over his eyes to wipe away a couple of tears summoned by how _strong_ the drink is.

“_Merlin_, what is that?” Albus asks.

Scorpius shrugs. “A spirit, I think? They did put a mixer in, but clearly the ratios are off here.” He says.

Someone bumps into Scorpius’ back and pushes him closer to Albus. And, in complete contrast to how he would have responded in the past, Albus places an arm around Scorpius’ waist to steady him. And when he is steady he doesn’t take it away, nor does Scorpius move out of his grip.

They’re getting pretty good at this touchy-feeling-with-_purpose _thing.

“I think a lot of people here are doing the same thing we are.” Scorpius says into Albus’ ear.

“And what’s that?”

Scorpius’ voice is quiet. Or, perhaps, he is actually shouting but the music is so loud it comes off as a whisper. “Taking a break after graduating,” he says. “Running away. Trying to prevent the inevitable.”

“How do you know this?”

“When I was at the bar this Muggle girl was getting very up in my face asking who I was and why I was here, and when I wouldn’t tell her she told me her life story instead,” Scorpius laughs. “Apparently being very friendly when drunk is a common trend among young British people.”

Albus grins. He takes another mouthful from his drink, regretting how he swills it before swallowing. The alcohol stings. Like a very strong mouthwash but without the dental perks. Rather the opposite, Albus supposes.

“Are you enjoying running away from life?” Albus asks.

The music around them is loud and thick and intense. The bass rattles the cobbles underneath them and shakes the sand on the beach a few paces to their left. It suffocates Albus slightly. He feels like he could drown among the instruments and be shook so intently he’ll snap in two. He instinctively tightens his hold on Scorpius for his own benefit, and Scorpius responds with an arm around his shoulders. The rest of the world fades away.

(Except the music. The music is still very much present.)

“I’m not running away from life.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. “Explain?”

“You are my life,” Scorpius says as if it’s the simplest sentence he’s ever uttered. “I can’t run away from life when my life is next to me at all time.”

Albus stares at him. Perhaps the alcohol has gone straight to his head and is making him woozy, but he feels like could faint from how bold and perfect Scorpius sounds in the moment.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had two sips of a drink, Albus Potter. I’m not a lightweight unlike you.” Scorpius shrugs.

Albus huffs. “I am _not_ a–”

Scorpius cuts him off by kissing him.

Albus doesn’t even care when he drops his drink to the floor and presses his free hand to Scorpius’ cheek instead. Doesn’t care as he inevitably steps in a little pool of vodka on the floor below him to get as close as he can to this person he loves so dearly.

He’s run out of ways to mentally articulate how much he loves Scorpius. There seems to be no comparison on earth that does justice to his great, beating love for him. He could create a million metaphors and it still wouldn’t work. There is no way to encompass it all.

His mind shuts down and reverts to basics. The basics being that he is utterly obsessed with this person and he knows, _knows_, that they are destined to be together for the rest of their lives. He doesn’t need any impressive language or romantically inclined poetic utterance to encapsulate that. It’s written in the stars.

That Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy have to be together or the world will end.

Or, well. The world could end _with_ them together, too. They’ve proved that in the past.

“I enjoy doing this.” Scorpius says after a while. He presses his nose to Albus’ and Albus finds himself instinctively rising onto his tiptoes to close the space between them once more.

“So do I.”

“No… I mean,” Scorpius murmurs. His fingers gently walk up the side of Albus’ face before curling into his hair. “I _really_ like it. And I don’t want you to think it’s meaningless. Or that I’m, like, using you or something.”

“Oh I don’t,” Albus says. “I really, really don’t.”

Scorpius smiles and gently swats Albus down. “Can you pause with the neediness for approximately two minutes, please?” He asks. To which Albus frowns, but his face clears once Scorpius kisses his nose. “I don’t know what _this_ is. What we are, or whatever. And maybe being in the middle of a party in Mykonos isn’t the best place to have that conversation. But this is our last night in Greece, the last night of this trip, and I _need_ you to know how important you are to me.”

“I know, Scorpius. I swear,” Albus says. He places his hands on top of Scorpius’ on his own cheeks, and stares so intently at Scorpius his gaze could set him on fire. “I don’t think you’re using me, I never have. And you don’t need to tell me that I’m important because I _feel_ it. You’re the only person who has ever made me feel seen for who I am. Without expectation. Without limitation. You… you make me feel _alive_.”

Someone bumps into them and Albus steps on his cup. It definitely snaps and the plastic breaks into a few shattered shards, but Albus can’t hear. And he daren’t look away from Scorpius to see for himself.

“I love you so much, Al,” Scorpius says. The music seems to fade. “And… I don’t know when it happened or how it happened. I don’t have a specific moment like you, but I _know_. I’ve loved you since I first met you and I will love you until either of us dies.”

“Good,” Albus says. “Because I’m going to do the same to you, too.”

“So… what does that mean?”

“I don’t know. And I also don’t care,” Albus says, smiling through it all. “Can I please kiss you again?”

Scorpius laughs. His laugh is louder than anything and is the only thing Albus wants to hear for the rest of his life. He wants to be the reason Scorpius is so happy. Perhaps not the _only_ reason. But he wants to be someone who can elicit such happiness that Scorpius sounds like an impenetrable ball of joy.

Scorpius doesn’t answer. He just kisses him instead.

And it burns. But in a nice way. Albus doesn’t feel like he will ever get hurt. It’s like they toe a fragile line between safety and utter destruction but he knows they will never fall the wrong side. If he ever wavers Scorpius will pull him right back into place.

And he thinks that makes him a rather lucky person.

“I love you.” Albus says.

Scorpius twines their fingers together. “I’m _in_ love with you.”

And there is no explosion at hearing those words. There is no bright line that shines around them and no soul-lifting outer body experience that shakes Albus’ core like he thought. There is no bold gesture or earth-shattering sound.

There is just him. And Scorpius. And their smiles.

And it’s perfect.

It’s all so perfect.

⚡

They’re barefoot on the beach with the sea tickling the soles of their feet and splashing on the cuffs of their jeans and neither of them has a single care in the world. They hold their shoes between their fingers and have a tight grip on each other’s hands, and Albus feels unstoppable.

He feels like he could swim the entire sea back home and wouldn’t need to stop to take a breath. Like he could find himself lost in space and wouldn’t need any special Muggle spacesuit to keep him alive. The adrenaline in his veins and the love blooming in his heart feels like enough to keep him alive for the rest of his days.

The moon and stars glisten on the pitch black sea. In the distance back on solid ground the dulcet beats of late night bass still thumps through the air, but the waves crashing on the shore are louder and much more prominent in Albus’ mind.

He gently kicks some water on Scorpius’ shin and Scorpius gently pokes his side in retaliation. They run through the shallows and swat each other with water, laughter mixing with the waves mixing with the salty air to create a potion of utter delight.

If Albus were to smell Amortentia at this exact moment he thinks it would be a dose of _this_. Here and now. Saltiness, the tacky remains of sticky alcohol and the remnants of Scorpius’ aftershave burning in the air.

He would happily drink it by the gallon. It wouldn’t make any impact, Albus thinks. He’s already tragically in love with Scorpius that no love potion would change that.

As he runs away from Scorpius and his handful of water Albus slips on a loose chunk of sand and goes falling into the shallows. The cool sea drenches him to his core and sends a rush of chill shuddering through his spine. His shirt sticks to his chest and his jeans crinkle uncomfortably as he bends his knees and tries to balance himself.

Then Scorpius is willingly falling over on top of him, and both of them are half underwater and half gasping for air as they laugh into the late, late Mykonos night.

There is no light but Albus can still see the glimmer in Scorpius’ eyes. Can see the way his lips curve into the corner of his face in a glorious smile.

“Are you my boyfriend?” Albus asks once he’s caught his breath. He’s flat on his back, the shallow sea soaking him more by the second, and Scorpius sits on his lap. Their hands are joined between them, resting on Scorpius’ shins as they stare at each other.

Scorpius shrugs. He is backlit by the vibrant rainbow of lights somehow catching them from so far away. “I’m not sure,” he says. “Do you want me to be?”

“I do,” Albus nods. “More than anything in the world.”

Scorpius smiles and leans down to kiss him. “Then yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“_Merlin_, if anyone told little fourteen year old Albus that in the future he’d be lying on the beach in Greece calling Scorpius Malfoy his boyfriend he would not have believed you.” Albus says.

“I mean… I’m sure that can be arranged,” Scorpius says. “I happen to be pretty well trained in the act of using time turners.”

Albus groans and releases one of Scorpius’ hands to splash some water in his face. “You are insufferably annoying.”

“You still love me.”

“Oh, I do,” Albus smiles, relishing in the way Scorpius’ bumps their noses together before kissing him. “I really, really do.”

⚡

**7th August**

Albus is crying.

They’re standing at the site of their Portkey back to England and he is crying. Can barely stop. It’s a horrible feeling in his stomach. The feeling of knowing he is ready to go home and is looking forward to seeing his family, but also the feeling of utter dread at the thought of leaving everything behind. Leaving the friends they’ve made along the way. Leaving the feeling of freedom that they’ve had granted to them every day.

Albus so terribly doesn’t want to go. But he knows they can’t stay.

So he cries.

A _lot_.

They’re on a hill somewhere on the outskirts of Mykonos and the sun is hot on their shoulders. Scorpius is beside him, one hand around Albus’ shoulders and the other holding onto their bags. Albus stares into the ground; he can’t stand to look at the scenery because he knows it’ll set him off even more.

He feels like he’s leaving more than half of himself out here. He knows for certain he’s left a sliver of himself in every place they’ve been, and by allowing a shred of his soul to reside in Mykonos Albus thinks he’s going home less himself than ever.

Albus blinks back a fresh shower of tears that could very easily fall.

He’d spent so long wanting to come here, excited to do all _this_. And now it’s over. Just like that.

Scorpius gently squeezes him. “You’ll be alright, sugar,” he says with a kiss to Albus’ temple. “The adrenaline will stop when we get back and you’ll crash. And then we can go through all the things we’ve bought and it will be a truly wonderful time.”

“When I get back I have to attend a funeral.” Albus murmurs.

“I know,” Scorpius says. “But you know as well as I do that you will get through it and you will be fine.”

Albus nods. “I know. I do… I just,” he sighs. “I hate the idea of never being as happy as I am right now.”

Scorpius’ smile softens. “You will be this happy again,” he says. “Because now you know that this scope of happiness is possible. And little things that will remind you of everything out here… the memories… the photos… you will be this happy.”

“I believe you.”

Scorpius nods and gently pulls Albus towards the rusty umbrella on the ground beneath them. “You ready?” He asks, picking up the umbrella and holding the other end out for Albus.

Albus looks at the umbrella. Then looks to Scorpius. Then dares to give one last look to Greece. The distant white buildings and the curves of the hills and the beautiful horizon stab him with a knife of utter heartbreak. He isn’t ready.

But he knows that the journey is over. And that, ultimately, a new one awaits him at home.

Albus looks back to Scorpius. _His _Scorpius. Against all odds.

“Yeah,” Albus nods. “I’m ready.”

So he holds the umbrella with one hand and Scorpius’ hand with the other. Albus exhales.

And then they leave Greece, and their adventure is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on to the home stretch! <3
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


	7. england

**7th August**

They land on a field in the outskirts of London with a thick layer of cloud above and an endless shower of rain soaking them, their bags and the ground under their shoes. Albus instinctively pulls down the sleeves of his jumper, but tilts his chin back and opens himself to the sweet, cooling drops.

_Home_, he thinks.

Opposite him, he hears Scorpius open up the rusty umbrella, now a dormant Portkey reduced to mundanity for eternity, and hold it above him. Albus is relieved for the weather mainly because it blurs the boundary between whether the streaks on his cheeks are tears or raindrops. Albus stands there for a moment, spread wide and free and exposed for the whole world to see, before Scorpius shuttles over to him and covers him with the rusty spokes and waning clear plastic coverings of the umbrella. There’s a pattern of owls dotted over the transparent base, some with parcels in their claws and others sitting on invisible branches.

“Lovely old London, huh?” Scorpius says.

Albus’ lips drag into a thin smile. He raises himself ever so slightly onto his tiptoes to kiss his boyfriend –_ boyfriend_, his mind repeats – and the familiar feeling of Scorpius’ knuckles brushing over his cheeks fills him with warmth where the air had stunned him cold.

“Even lovelier now you’re back in it,” Albus says. “Fancy going to the Leaky Cauldron before we split?” He asks. He takes the zipper of Scorpius’ jacket between his fingers and gently drags it up and down, up and down, up and down.

Scorpius watches. “Are you sure you want to go home by yourself?”

Albus flattens his hand against the warm fabric of Scorpius’ jumper. And he shrugs. “No. I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure what to expect when I get there. Everyone pretending like everything is okay for half an hour so I can talk about all the fun I’ve been having while they’ve been mourning my grandad? Them not wanting to talk about it in case it ruins what has been an amazing few weeks for me?”

“You know I will come with you, if you want.” Scorpius assures.

“I know. But I… I feel like this is something that should be just the Potters, you know?” Albus says.

Scorpius smiles. “I know,” he says, and Albus believes him. “Leaky Cauldron for lunch sounds great.”

⚡

The Leaky Cauldron is just as Albus remembers it. Which makes sense, he thinks, since it’s only been just over a month since he was last here. There are still scratch marks and dents on the floor from where slightly too-drunk patrons scrape their stools on the way out. Burn marks still decorate the table tops from drinkers’ failed attempts to warm their beverages up again, or set them on fire completely. Albus never really knows what they’re trying to do.

The door still swings open with the shiver-inducing creak that would burn right through him when he was younger, and the barmaid – Aurora – still beams at him when he walks through the open archway.

“Is that sweet Albus Potter I see?” Aurora says. She swings an arm around his neck as he comes to the bar and presses a kiss to his cheek. Her breath smells suspiciously of cinnamon, and he relishes in the familiarity of it all.

“It is,” Albus smiles. “And is this wonderful Aurora who has been chewing too many cinnamon sticks during her shift?”

Aurora playfully rolls her eyes and gently swats Albus with a couple of menus. “Don’t try and analyse me, little one,” she says, giving a small wave to Scorpius as he steps out from Albus’ shadow. “And the little Malfoy. Well, not so little. It’s wonderful to see you both again.”

“You too, Madam Ketterfull.”

“I do love the manners the Malfoy name has instilled in you,” Aurora smiles. She gently pinches Scorpius’ cheeks while wordlessly summoning a jug of water to their favourite table in the corner. “But if you call me Madam Ketterfull instead of Aurora once more, Scorpius, I will hex you. Now go sit, and I’ll bring over your usual drinks.”

Albus grins. “Thanks, Aurora.”

He notices as her gaze linger on their hands when they walk off to the table, fingers tightly tangled with Scorpius’ thumb rubbing soothing circles over Albus’ wrist bone. Even as they sit down, Albus’ legs crossed uncomfortably on the bench and their bags discarded to the side, their joined hands remain intact. Albus thinks they must be making up for all the days they went not being able to be _this_ close; making up for the seconds that turned into hours that turned into years yearning to close the gap, those few dastardly millimetres. Albus remembers feeling like he was burning from the inside out when he’d watch Scorpius and Rose hold hands over the library tables, or under them. Dying to do it himself, even though he hadn’t come to terms with all of his feelings yet.

And look at him now. He squeezes Scorpius’ hand for good luck.

Scorpius squeezes it back.

They have their usual drinks, Scorpius incapable of resisting a classic Butterbeer and Albus almost draining his glass of Cranberry Velvet (a red drink that is made primarily of cranberry juice, but has a dash of a secret ingredient that makes the flavour change ever so slightly depending on what you’re craving at that moment) in seconds, and they split a bowl of soup.

People pass by their table and give them gentle smiles and strike up short, sweet conversations if they are particularly familiar with either the Potter or Malfoy family. Albus has the urge to hide their hands under the table just in case, but Scorpius keeps a concrete grip and Albus decides he prefers the view from up here anyway.

“Do you think your dad will be excited to see you?” Albus asks with a mouthful of bread.

Scorpius scowls at him. “You have no manners.” He says.

“I have perfect manners.”

“Lies.”

“This bread is just _so_ good I could eat it all day.”

“I will _hit you_.”

“Bread. _Really_ good bread,” Albus smiles. “Perfect bread.”

“Albus Severus fuck–”

“What’s wrong with bread?” Albus asks.

Scorpius continues to scowl at him, and Albus just beams back with an innocence so pure he can feel the Heavens beckoning him to come home. Albus leans over the table to kiss the crumbs off the corner of Scorpius’ lips, and _maybe_ he can hear the Heavens telling him to stay down here for a little longer.

“I love you.” Albus smiles.

Scorpius cracks. _Finally_. “I love you.”

“But seriously,” Albus says once he settles back into his seat, another piece of bread in his hands. “Your dad is going to combust when you walk back through the doors, isn’t he?”

“Definitely,” Scorpius smiles. His free hand instinctively grabs at the chain around his neck, the ring effortlessly sliding over his slender index finger. Astoria’s wedding band is the simplest of things, Albus thinks. But he recalls seeing her a few times on the Platform and noticing that her engagement ring had more flourishes, so he supposed the wedding band was intended to be simple and solid and undeniably there: a bit like the love she and Draco shared. “I imagine he’s gone a bit stir crazy at home by himself, especially since I banned him writing letters to me. But it’s also been good for us, I think? We’re used to being apart, obviously, because I’d be off at Hogwarts. But this was different. This was me being away by choice, and away where he couldn’t really get to me if something went wrong. I’m hoping it will bring us closer in a weird way.”

“Are you going to mention Healing school to him?”

Scorpius shrugs. “At some point,” he says. “I’m not sure about it right now. I’m probably going to see if there are similar courses of study here, instead of in France and other places.”

Albus tilts his head to the side. “Huh? Why? I thought you were really excited about studying in the Academies?”

“I was,” Scorpius smiles. “But the Academies don’t have you.”

Albus flushes. “Oh.” He says.

“I mean, like… that’s not the only reason, _obviously_. And I’d like to think we’d cope with the distance if it came down to it,” Scorpius continues. “But it doesn’t really matter where you learn. All that matters is what you do with _what_ you learn. Whether it’s France or Spain or Canada or here, it’s all the same principles. And I think I’d quite like to leave everywhere-else-but-here as places to relax and get away. I don’t want to blur those escapist havens with the boundary of work.”

“_How,_” Albus exaggerates. “How in Merlin’s name are you so effortlessly intelligent all the time?”

Scorpius rolls his eyes, throwing a loose bit of bread at Albus. Albus is a few steps ahead of him, though, and catches the bread in his mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know,” Albus grins. “I have no idea how you’ve put up with me for the last few weeks.”

“Oh, trust me,” Scorpius says. “It took a lot of willpower.”

Albus smiles at him. Scorpius smiles back. _Home_. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

⚡

“I’m only an owl away if you need me,” Scorpius says as they stand at foot of the fireplace with a pot of Floo powder in their hands. “And you’re coming to stay at the Manor after… the funeral.”

Albus nods. “I know,” he smiles. “I promise I’ll write if anything happens.”

“_Anything_, Al.”

“Anything.” Albus reassures.

Scorpius sets the pot down to wrap Albus up one last time. Albus doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels weepy all over again. Perhaps because this is where the adventure really ends. No more being at Scorpius’ side every second of every day. No more waking up to his minty breath or his stretched out limbs taking up the entire bed. No more making sure they have sugar in their rental homes and hotel rooms so Scorpius can load up his tea with sweetness.

No more. No more.

Albus melts into Scorpius’ warmth and tries to remember every curve of his frame. Or, at least, the parts he has never noticed before. Like the tiniest dimple at the base of Scorpius’ spine, or the miniscule scar just underneath his ear from where he burnt himself on Lily’s hair straighteners when he stayed over one summer.

He thinks he has Scorpius pretty well memorised at this point, but the things that crop up when he dares to let his fingertips glide towards unknown territory always light a little spark in his heart. Scorpius is an endless, unveiling portrait that he will never fully know, but he will try his best to learn as much as possible.

“I love you.” Albus says when he finally pulls away from Scorpius.

Scorpius kisses him. And it’s so _nice_, Albus doesn’t know how he ever lived without it. “I love you.”

Albus watches as Scorpius steps into the fireplace with a hand full of Floo powder, his bag slung over his shoulders and his eyes glued to Albus. They smile at each other.

“Malfoy Manor.” Scorpius enunciates his syllables perfectly. He throws down the powder and he vanishes in an explosion of bright green flames and a cloud of ashy dust.

When everything settles, the grate is empty, and Albus is alone.

⚡

The rain soaks the sleeves of Albus’ jumper as he stands just beyond the fence outlining the Potter family cottage, staring up at his home after what feels like an eternity away. Everything feels different despite the fact nothing on the outside has changed.

The fence still needs repainting, little specs of white having chipped off through years gone by where toddlers would crash into it on their trainer broomsticks or accidental spells would be cast during a particularly intense tantrum. The knocker on the door hangs low as it always has, a little lopsided after James broke it with a misguided hex that was intended for a gnome but ended up hitting the door. Neither of them dared to tell their parents what they had been doing, so they found a Muggle screwdriver and fixed it themselves. Whether their parents knew or not was beyond Albus, but if they had noticed they never mentioned it.

Albus lets his fingers drag over the spiked planks that make up the fence, careful to not slip over the damp surface and jab his skin with thawing decaying wood that dares to make him bleed. The sunflowers stand tall by the main bay window, climbing endlessly into the sky alongside ivy that coils up the guttering and out of view. The window to Lily’s room is open for some inexplicable reason, her yellow checked curtains fluttering in the breeze and sodden at the hem where they tickle the little pool of raindrops lingering on the windowsill.

Everything is the same, but there is a little less life about the place. The flowers tilt towards the floor, shying away from the great wide world, and everything feels a little duller. The once bright, clean brickwork that makes up the structure of the cottage sags with a layer of grey must that lingers about the place. The hanging baskets are motionless. No smoke rises from the chimney.

Lifelessness.

The door swings open and drags Albus away from his melancholy observation of his home.

“My love,” his mum says. She rolls up the sleeves of her old Quidditch jumper, partially hidden beneath her standard dungarees, and steps out into the rain with him. Her arms are wide open, beckoning Albus to come home. “Hi.”

Albus drops his bag to the floor and bounds into Ginny’s open arms. She winds him into a warm hug, her arms tight around his shoulders and Albus’ clumsily gripping at the straps of her dungarees behind her back. She is delicateness and safety and love and _home_ wrapped into one vanilla-scented bundle, and Albus has missed her so much.

“Hey, now,” Ginny says. Her fingers find their way to his hair as she feels him start to shake, strands of his hair gently curling around her skin. “It’s alright, Al. _Baby_, it’s okay.”

Albus didn’t think he’d have any tears left. He’s pretty sure there is a trail of his tears following the path he and Scorpius took throughout Europe; he could probably retrace all of their steps based on the shadowy outlines from where his tears fell on the floor. He didn’t realise there were more left inside.

“I missed you so much.”

“I have missed you too,” Ginny assures. She smells so distinctly of raising agent, and Albus knows the minute he walks into the house there will be an array of baked good covering every surface of the kitchen. His dad stress bakes, and Albus can’t imagine anyone daring to stop him right now. “We all have.”

Her hands are suddenly on his cheeks, pointlessly wiping away his tears as raindrops soon fill their empty spaces and stain his skin once more.

“Is James back?”

Ginny shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says. “He’s coming back tomorrow. We’re all heading to the Burrow in the morning. He’s coming straight there.”

Albus nods. His hair starts to stick to his forehead, delicate little curls glueing to his milky skin. “Okay.”

“Come inside?” Ginny asks. She reaches down to pick up Albus’ bag, shouldering it and taking his hand before he even utters an answer.

She guides him over the boundary and casts a silent spell to shut the door behind them. Albus kicks off his shoes and pulls off his sodden jumper, leaving him in his socks and his old Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt tucked into his jeans. He feels so meek, so little.

He is meek and he is mild, Albus thinks. A line from a Muggle poem Scorpius memorised one evening in their dormitory.

Ginny disappears upstairs with his jumper and his bag, and Albus is left alone to navigate the familiar layout of the house. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and wanders into the living room. The two oak bookshelves that sit either side of their fireplace seem busier than before, filled to capacity with Quidditch tactics books and sporting autobiographies. Books about law that his dad has gathered over the years. Lily’s endless collection of fiction books, in particular the _Mistakes and Memories of Felicity Sugarloaf, Witch in the Making_ series. Photo frames, more than usual.

The fire is unlit, lone basket of wooden logs set to the side. Ginny has a few scented candles lit, one to do with orange and one called ‘seaside kisses’ (whatever in the world _that_ means). The Potter family dog, Monty – a Westie named after Harry’s grandfather, snoozes on the rug, covered in old cinders that have found their way into his fur from his days spent rolling over and running around and mostly being an energetic little nuisance.

The noises of the house come from the kitchen where, as Albus predicted, trays of brownies and cakes and cookies cover every single surface. Albus takes a breath as he weaves around the furniture and passes under the little archway into the kitchen, a smile finding its way to his lips as he watches his dad busying himself with cleaning the dishes. Ginny often insists that he wastes far too much time cleaning up when he could just cast a spell and have it done for him. But Albus always notices how his dad adores standing at the sink, sponge in one hand and plate in the other, staring into the garden as he cleans, in peace.

It’s the quiet, simple parts of life that Harry Potter seems to cherish most. The moments when he can be as normal and mundane as possible. Heading to the local shop to get some more milk when they run out. Fighting with a duvet as he tries desperately to change the bedsheets every couple of weeks. Sitting in his living room, in the home he and his wife have spent their whole life moulding into the safest and purest of places, with his glasses sliding down his crooked nose and a book spread in his lap.

Albus imagines that silence after a life spent surrounded by noise is the greatest gift in the world.

“Hey, dad.” Albus says. His voice cuts through the tranquillity in the room, Harry’s head snapping immediately to his youngest son. There is light in his eyes and elation painting his face. He dries his hands on the tea towel slung over his shoulders and pulls Albus into a similar bone crushing hug to the one he received outside the house.

“My _boy_,” Harry says. His breath tickles the curve of Albus’ neck and he chokes slightly as Harry’s erratic hair suffocates him. But Albus doesn’t mind; he doesn’t care about being petted and grabbed and clung to, especially when it’s his parents on the other end. “Merlin, am I happy to see you.”

“You’ve been baking.” Albus observes, gesturing half-heartedly to the obvious plates everywhere.

“I have,” Harry smiles. He releases his son and lets his hands drag down Albus’ arms. They trace over his tan and the sun-induced freckles on his wrists. They wander over the spots where Scorpius had kissed him mere hours before. “And you’ve… been _living_.”

Albus beams as best he can given the circumstances. “I have.” He repeats.

“You have to tell me everything. _Us_ everything,” Harry says, idly tipping his head to the ceiling above where they hear Ginny scuttling about in the bedrooms. “More than what was in your letters.”

“Of course, dad,” Albus assures. “Everything.”

“You know, Al,” Harry says. He looks at his son as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen him. Like the air has cleared and he is seeing with perfect vision; can see the intricacies of Albus’ mind and the wavering in his soul. “I am thrilled you stayed out and did the whole trip, but I have never been happier to have you under our roof again.”

Harry hugs Albus again. Albus lets himself cry; this is harder than he thought it would be. But he knows that for all the seconds he lets himself crumble, watching as the floor fills with specs of dust that would once make up his body, his parents are ready beneath him with a brush to scoop him all up and put him back together again.

They’ll put him back together again. And he will do the same for them.

Because this is what the Potter family _do._

They love and they hurt and they break and they fix. And they always make each other whole again.

⚡

Albus sits on the floor with a mug of tea in one hand and the other submerged in the thick fur of Monty. The fire has finally been lit and the flames lick streaks of warmth onto his back. In the hours since he’s been home he has showered, changed, unpacked and inhaled a tray and a half of assorted baked goods provided by Harry. Lily returned from her History of Magic summer school midway through the day, clinging to Albus like she never had before, and now the four Potters all rest in the sitting room, drinking in the natural order that has reinstated with two thirds of the children back where they belong.

Lily curls herself up in the singular armchair, cushion hugged tightly to her chest and her delicate braid dangling behind the arm. Harry rests as he normally does, feet kicked up on the coffee table with one arm on the rest and the other gently wound around Ginny’s shoulders while she lies with her head on Harry’s lap, a cushion to keep her comfortable and a bubbling mug of coffee burning the palm of her hand.

Monty sleeps with his head tucked in the space between Albus’ crossed legs. The metal tag on his collar is cool against Albus’ ankle but the familiar warmth is welcome after weeks spent drifting aimlessly from place to place, always searching desperately for something that would feel like home. Albus sets his mug down and fiddles with the tassels that cover the perimeter of the slightly stark and jarring rug that covers the floor of the living room, letting the individual threads slip between the creases on his palm and over the bumpy landscape of his knuckles.

They speak about Albus’ trip; the fun things he and Scorpius did that he never mentioned in his letters, the different foods they had and all the different languages they came across. Albus waxes lyrical about the beaches they walked over and the different types of alcohol that still feels sticky on his lips even though it had been days since he’d touched some of them. But underneath it all, hidden in the cracks of their exteriors, is a complicated silence. A loud, crushing silence that Albus feels all too aware of. A silence that reminds all of them that they’re not talking about the specific, life-changing event that can’t be ignored forever.

As much as Albus relishes reciting the details of sun-kissed evenings he spent swirling a little umbrella stirrer through his glass of pink lemonade, he can’t sit in this burning atmosphere anymore.

“Are we going to the Burrow tomorrow to prepare for the… funeral?” Albus dares to ask. The word _funeral_ sticks in his throat for a second. It feels like a word from a foreign language he isn’t familiar with. The syllables feel heavy and wrong as he speaks them, and his question hangs painfully in the air as they all come back down to Earth and realise that they have to have this conversation.

Ginny shifts ever so slightly to better face Albus. Harry keeps her wrapped up in his grip, and she doesn’t seem to want to ever be apart from him. But Ginny needs to look at her son.

“We are,” she says. There is a rawness in her voice now, too. She sounds so much like his mum but still, at the same time, like someone he has never heard before. “We planned the funeral for a few days after you got back. Just so you had time to settle and weren’t flung straight into all this,” she gestures ambiguously to the world around them. “Right away.”

Albus nods. Monty shivers in his sleep, and Albus gently scratches behind his ears to soothe him. “Okay,” he says. “Where… is it going to be held?”

“The main ceremony is happening in St. Christopher’s, in the little village near the Burrow. And he’s being buried there, too. Next to Fred,” Ginny explains. “We thought about burying him at Shell Cottage, or in St. Jerome’s, but… it felt wrong separating the family.”

Albus nods again. “What happened?”

Ginny’s expression wavers slightly. Albus watches as she releases herself from Harry’s grip and joins him on the floor. She rests on her knees and gently brushes her delicate fingers through Monty’s fur, too. Albus looks at her, tries to read the wrinkles around her eyes and the crestfallen shadows that contour her face in places they never used to.

“Nothing,” she says. “Well, nothing awful. He had undiagnosed sleep apnoea. You know how he would always snore really loudly if he fell asleep downstairs? Or he’d wake himself up by, you know, choking a little? We all just assumed it was how dad was, since he’d been like that for as long as all of us could remember. But, no. It was… a problem.”

“But he wasn’t… in pain?”

Ginny shakes her head. “No, no. _No_. Not in pain. The staff at St Mungo’s think he didn’t feel anything. Like I said in my letter,” she says, lifting a hand to gently brush some of Albus’ hair behind his ear. “He fell asleep, and now he’s asleep forever.”

Albus wavers. He scrunches up his nose and stares at the floor, but his mum can read him better than the simplest book in the world, and so he finds himself wrapped in a cocoon of familial love. Monty stirs beneath him, sensing his discomfort, and clambers into his lap to be as close to Albus as possible. Albus lets his head fall deep into the curve of Ginny’s neck, and around him, he hears Lily and Harry come to the floor, too.

And they sit there. The four of them, and Monty. The fire is warm on their backs and their tears are sticky on their cheeks. Seconds pass, minutes pass, hours pass. Albus doesn’t know how long they huddle on the carpet, the rain falling incessantly outside and the sun, masked by clouds, sinking slowly out of sight.

But none of them ever want to move.

⚡

When Albus retires to his bedroom it is past midnight and he can barely keep his eyes open. He squints at his desk, the shadowy outline of an envelope drawing him in. He rolls up his sleeves and brushes his messy fringe from his eyes, fingertips gently dragging over the handwriting staining the front.

_Albus Potter_

_Switzerland_

_Geneva Hostel_

The letter from his grandpa. The last thing his grandpa ever wrote.

Albus delicately picks up the envelope and sits on top of his duvet. He fearfully holds the envelope in his hands, terrified that he will do something and tear the paper or smudge the lettering or do something else that will ruin this perfectly preserved sliver of love.

Albus can’t open it.

He _wants_ to open it, and his fingers itch at the corner where the opening resides, but he can’t. He doesn’t know what will be in the letter; he doesn’t know how it will make him feel. Will it fill him with guilt that he wasn’t here to see his grandpa go? Will it fill him with sadness as he remembers how happy and foolish and naïve the Albus to whom this letter is addressed to was? Will he miss Switzerland?

Albus doesn’t know.

And, right now, he doesn’t want to know.

He sets the envelope back onto the desk, tucking it securely under a dragon-shaped paperweight so it doesn’t get lost, and then he gets under his covers, and falls asleep.

Albus will start fresh tomorrow. Tomorrow. _Tomorrow_.

⚡

**8th August**

_My Albus,_

_I hate the way my bed feels without you in it. I hate the emptiness, the coolness. The vacant spot that burns in the room when you’re not around. I got so used to your breath tickling my nose. To your annoying habit of rolling yourself into the covers so I’m cold in the mornings. I thought I’d be grateful to have the entire duvet to myself, but no. _

_I feel a little empty. And a selfish part of me hopes you feel a little empty, too. _

_I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re okay. _

_I’m sending you the most sincere devotion today. And I’ll be with you tomorrow to shower you with sincere devotion and love in person._

_You’ve got this._

_Love, always,_

_Your Scorpius. _

⚡

Albus pours out his rucksack and sorts through the assorted objects he brought back from travelling. He tips out his dirty laundry into his basket and puts away clean clothes, and new clothes, back into his wardrobe. He lines up the trinkets he purchased on his windowsill, gently blowing on them to brush off the dust and fluff that cling to the sleek curves of statues or have slipped into the openings of vials, necklaces, music boxes.

He fills his rucksack with black clothes. A pair of dark plaid pyjamas, patterned black cat socks. His black turtleneck and his fanciest black trousers. He is colourless. Shaded with dejection and stuck in a state of despair.

He is formless. Life is performative; he is performing the role of a grieving grandson. Because underneath he is empty. He is numb.

Albus wants to feel alive again.

⚡

They Floo to the Burrow just before noon, and once more Albus goes through the painful cycle of greeting his family, exchanging words about his trip, and then crying as they talk about his grandpa. Every time he sees someone new he crumbles inside as his body prepares to go through the pain all over again. Thinking about his grandpa seems to reset his grieving process. He talks about it with someone and, albeit only slightly, starts to come to terms with it.

Then he talks to someone else, and the feelings break down the walls of tranquillity and calm that he’s started to build. And Albus is left in the rubble of his emotions again.

Hovering above everything and everyone in the kitchen are clothes hangers holding up everyone’s funeral clothes. Ginny pulls out Albus’ black attire and utters a quiet _wingardium leviosa_ under her breath until everyone from the Potter family has their clothes hung, too. His grandma pours everyone tea and sets out platters of bread and butter and fruit and fillings, but nobody eats anything.

Albus excuses himself from the full capacity lounge at some point. He uses the reasoning of wanting a fresh glass of water to get to the kitchen before escaping out the back door and looping around the building to head to his grandpa’s shed full of Muggle artefacts.

He gently pushes the door open and sighs at the sight. Albus wants to scoop everything into his backpack and apparate back home. He wants to put everything in his room, hang up the posters and box up the Muggle telephones, display the bobble heads on his bookshelf and frame the watch faces. Albus doesn’t know what the family are planning to do with everything, but he refuses to let them throw it all away.

Often had people referred to the shed as a place full of junk. _Junk_. The word makes Albus sick.

How could anyone look at this trove and think of it as junk?

Albus drags his fingertips over the dusty snow globes. He picks up one from the middle and shakes it, watching as the fake snow swarms the little sculpture and drifts ever so slowly back down to the ground. The base of one of the snow globes, one with a statue of a dinosaur in the middle, is engraved on the bottom.

_Dearest Misty. You love dinosaurs. And I love you. So, by extension, I love dinosaurs, too. Happy Valentines. Love, Roger. _

Junk.

Never in a million years.

“Alright, little one?”

Albus jumps at the voice from behind him. He places the globe down and spins on his heels, smiling at his Uncle George, standing in the doorway with his fingers looped around his braces straps. Despite being in his mid-forties Albus thinks his uncle has this ineffable youthful flair about him that will never fade. Though little strands of grey peak through his mess of ginger hair he makes it work; over the years his freckles have darkened and alongside small scars from the Battle that weave from his neck up his cheeks and cut through one of his eyebrows he looks like a radiant explorer with a thousand stories to his name and an infinite fountain of experience about _life_ wrapped in his soul.

George drags out a stool from under the main table and perches there, looking inquisitively at his nephew as they simmer within the dusty atmosphere of the shed.

“I’m not little.” Albus says. He clears a space atop of the table and hops on, his palms covering in a layer of thick dust.

“Sure,” George smiles. “So you had fun? In Europe?”

Albus nods. His mindlessly picks up small model of the planet Saturn. His grandpa had supposed it came from a Muggle model of the universe, with a tiny hook screwed into the top where it would hang from string, and Albus had grown obsessed with the idea of this tiny little thing spinning near the ceiling, dozens of enthusiastic, youthful eyes watching the rings as they sit in science class.

“Loads. It was… an experience,” Albus says. Does he tell his Uncle everything? Is the day before the funeral of George’s father really the time to bring up such trivial, teenage-romantic things? “I feel like a completely different person than I was when I left.”

The corner of George’s mouth quivers into a smile. “You look different.”

“How?”

“I mean, you know. Aside from the obvious tan lines and longer hair and little scratches from walking all day,” George says, gesturing to Albus’ calves where little red slits cover his skin, marks from where he got caught by a thorn bush when hiking over a volcano or through hills. “You just look older. More settled, almost? You used to have a naïve, youthful sort of deer in headlights look. Like you were terrified of what the world had to offer. Now you look ready to combat anything.”

“Oh,” Albus says. He drags his nail over Saturn’s rings. His mind takes him back to the science museum in Geneva, with all the telescopes that could magnify the stars and point out the planets lingering so, so far away. “I mean… a lot happened. So I guess it’s a testament to all the _stuff_ that happened.”

George nods to Albus’ ankle. “I’ve never seen that,” he says. Albus’ eyes flick down to the peacock feather staining his skin. “Have you always had it?”

Albus smiles with a shrug. “Yeah. Well, not always. For a couple of years. It’s a peacock feather. Scorpius has a matching one,” he says. “We weren’t big on rule breaking, but we did smuggle stuff into the common room every now and again.”

George beams. “You do make me proud, little nephew.”

“I’m not little.”

“You are, averagely, three inches shorter than everyone you know,” George adds. “You are little.”

Albus rolls his eyes. The familiar silence blooms once more. The two of them glance at different things around the room; Albus gravitates towards the shelf of Muggle trophies (5-a-side football trophies, medals from swimming competitions, other things that Albus can’t imagine someone ever wanting to give up), while George looks at the jack-in-the-boxes. Typical.

“Is it easier this time around?” Albus dares to ask. “Losing grandpa? Or, well, your dad? After losing Fred?”

George unhooks and hooks the straps to his braces as he takes in Albus’ question. “I’m not sure,” he answers. “This feels different, for sure. But then I guess it hurts differently, too?”

Albus nods.

“Losing Fred… I wasn’t sure I would survive it,” George continues, fingers picking at the table. “Losing family is _hard_, as you probably understand now. You probably understood it from watching Scorpius after Astoria died. But losing Fred was losing half of me. Even though I was okay, only a few cuts and bruises, I felt scarred internally. Empty. Like I was breathing but one of my lungs wasn’t working. Constantly breathless, constantly lonely. It’s a tremendous pain… I mean. I didn’t just lose a brother, I lost my _twin_ brother. And not just my twin… my _best friend_. It was, like, the cruellest compounding of problems in the world.”

“But you did survive it,” Albus says, not that George seems to need validation. “And I guess that means you could survive anything now.”

George smiles. “I sure can. I don’t think I’ll ever be myself again, but I’ve learned to be a different George to the one I was years ago. And though he isn’t perfect, he’s as good as it needs to be.”

Albus smiles, too.

“So, to answer your question,” George concludes. “Grief is grief. Every time you lose someone it’s different. It may not get easier, but I know how to handle it. And I know, from experience, that I can get through it. And I know this isn’t technically what you asked, but… you’ll get through this, too, Al.”

Albus nods. Then he shuffles off the counter and heads over to his uncle, waiting for George to clip his strap back into place before hugging him. “Thanks.” He says.

George squeezes his shoulders. “No problem, little one,” he whispers. “Is Scorpius coming tomorrow?” He asks after a beat of calm passes between them.

“Yeah,” Albus says, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. “Is that okay?”

George is confused. “Of course? Why wouldn’t it be?”

Albus shrugs. “He isn’t… he isn’t _technically_ family.”

George rolls his eyes. “Albus Potter… you astound me,” he smiles. “You of all people should know family isn’t bound purely by blood. Scorpius is as much a part of this family as everyone else is.”

“I guess.”

George smiles. “I’ve missed you, Al,” he says, stool scraping on the floor as he stands up. “Ready to head back?”

⚡

“Albus!”

Albus finds himself winded as James all but catapults into him as he gets back to the Burrow. There are jackets tossed on the floor, a couple of bags set on the dining table, and another figure quickly wrapping their arms around him as he tries to take in his surroundings.

“James?” Albus asks, hand brushing his hair from his face when James finally releases him ever so slightly. “_Sofia!_”

Sofia is bundles of beautifully curled hair and dulcet flavours of Spanish culture and everything he remembers her being and more. She smells of pomegranate and cinnamon, her skin ever so slightly paler when her sleeves slip out of place and expose her tan lines. She has faintly teary eyes and her hands are pressed to Albus’ cheeks.

“Albus.” Sofia says simply. His name truly does sound a million times better coming from her.

For a moment Albus forgets that their entire family is stood in the cramped bottom floor of the Burrow; all he wants to do is wrap himself up in the presence of James and Sofia, inhaling them like he would breathe desperately after resurfacing from being submerged underwater.

“How are you?” James asks, fingers curled into Albus’ hair and eyes glued to his little brother. “How was Greece?”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you.” Albus says. He throws his arms around James’ shoulders and melts into the familiar athletic build. The last time he saw James, or an iteration of James, to be specific, was his dead body at the temple of Delphi. Washing out that image from his mind right now, instead drinking in the vibrant colour of James’ eyes and the slightly windswept ruffles of his hair, is all he’s needed.

James’ face twists into a perplexed expression, but he doesn’t question it out loud. Just wraps Albus up once more. Because this is what they do now. This is what best friends _do_.

“I love you, Al.”

“I love you so much, James.”

⚡

“A year?” Ginny asks, dumbfounded. She stares at James as if she’s never seen this boy before. “You’ve been in a serious relationship for a year and didn’t feel the need to tell any of us?”

James shrugs. He sips from his water and stares at his mum from his seat on the floor, Albus to his left and Sofia to his right. “It didn’t seem important. I was in Spain, everyone else was here. I didn’t fancy running my mouth off about this, since my reputation here is the boy who can never hold down a relationship. I thought I’d give it time to, like, develop. And then there was never a good time to bring it up.”

Ginny is aghast. “Never a good time? You come home almost every month, James. We come out and see you play Quidditch!” She says, gasping after she finishes. “Hang on. You weren’t at the matches were you?”

Sofia smiles. “Maybe? I’ve been going for a while. I try to go to as many as possible. I’ve only known about the whole magic thing since last October.”

“That’s still ten months,” Harry says. He is caught between being stunned at James’ news and overjoyed by it, so his face is constantly shifting from a wide open O to a beautifully curved smile. “I’m amazed you’ve had this going for over a year.”

James shrugs again. “I’m a grown up, you know? I’m good at adult decisions.”

“Did you know?” Ginny turns her gaze to Albus. “Before you went and stayed with him?”

“Sort of? He mentioned that he was living with someone before I left, but I didn’t find out much until I got to Spain. But I haven’t known forever.” Albus says. He picks up a cookie from a plate on the table and snaps it in half, handing the bigger portion to Sofia.

Sofia smiles and gently tips her head to Albus in thanks.

Everyone stares at her as if she’s some enigmatic star that has dropped from the night sky and is so blindingly confusing they can’t look away. Which makes sense, Albus thinks. She does have that ethereal beauty about her.

“Well,” Ginny smiles. “It’s wonderful to meet you now, Sofia. I know the circumstances aren’t… the happiest. But if you’re important to James, you’re important to all of us.”

Sofia smiles. Her lips part ever so slightly to show a sliver of her teeth. James’ hand finds hers and their fingers wind in to a familiar knot. “Thank you, Mrs Potter,” Sofia smiles. “And for what it’s worth, I really wish I had got to meet Arthur. From what James has told me… he sounded like a wonderful man.”

Ginny smiles. James smiles. Molly smiles.

Everyone smiles.

And, for the first time, Albus thinks they’ll get through this.

⚡

Given the unpredictability of James’ plus one, Sofia has to bunk with the two of them in Uncle Ron’s old room. Albus is on the floor in a sleeping bag that has been charmed to hover a few centimetres off the ground so he isn’t lying on the cold hard wood, and his two favourite lovebirds are to get cosy in the single bed pressed against the wall.

“Tell me everything,” Sofia says once the door is shut and all three of them are suitably wrapped in pyjamas and tucked under blankets. “_Now_.”

Albus playfully rolls his eyes. “Calm down, sunshine.”

“Tell her what?” James asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see Albus on the floor.

“Seriously?” Sofia asks. “Tell _us_ about how he and Scorpius got together.”

“Wait,” James asks, suddenly sat upright and staring at Albus. “What? Together? Since when?”

“Oh, _Merlin_.”

“Hang on. You only told me you kissed… in Italy, was it?” James ponders. “When did this happen?”

“That’s what I want him to tell me.” Sofia says, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of James’ jaw.

Albus grins at them and settles back on his pillow. He stares at the ceiling and can see the events of the night on the Grecian beach playing right in front of his eyes. The shadows that skitter across the plaster seem to shift into shapes that barely resemble him and Scorpius, and the waves that crashed over their feet.

“We were in Mykonos,” Albus recites. “We’d been clubbing, obviously. And there was… alcohol and noise. And things just escalated. And then I asked him on the beach. We were messing about in the ocean and I guess I got the courage from somewhere to ask him.”

“God, Al,” Sofia beams at him from across the room. “I can’t believe you’re the same sweet boy who sat in my houseboat panicking about your feelings for Scorpius… I’m so proud of you.”

“Have you told any of the family?” James asks.

Albus shakes his head.

“Is Scorpius coming tomorrow?” Sofia asks.

Albus nods.

“Well…” James says.

“I know,” Albus chuckles. “It should be fine.”

“It _will_ be fine.” Sofia asserts.

Albus smiles. “I know,” he repeats. “Deep down… I definitely know.”

⚡

**9th August**

The sky is heavy with dark grey clouds that are threatening to split at any given moment. The air is rumbling with something insincere, and Albus thinks he should be surprised that a storm is brewing in August. But then he remembers they’re in England; he shouldn’t be stunned by this.

Albus is sitting on the doorstep to the Burrow, staring desperately out into the fields and the huge bushes and strands of grass that waver wearily in the early morning wind. His turtleneck is keeping him warm, sleeves pulled over his hands as he fiddles with a loose thread. He is waiting for the familiar _crack_ to sound Scorpius’ arrival. He feels like he’s holding on to stability by a thread, a thread that will very likely snap if Scorpius doesn’t arrive soon.

Behind him, through the open windows, he can hear the boiling of the kettle and the cracking of eggs as Molly and Sofia make breakfast for everyone. There is a melancholy blanket settled over the house this morning. The exchanging of morning salutations feels forced and stilted even though everyone so deeply desires familiar faces and friendliness. It’s an odd atmosphere, and Albus sort of hates it.

_Crack_.

Scorpius appears from thin air, and Albus stands so fast he feels faint. Colours blur in his eyes and by the time he has blinked his vision clear Scorpius is in front of him, apple and vanilla filling his senses. He folds into Scorpius’ arms. Despite standing on the doorstep he is still ever so slightly smaller than Scorpius, head tucked perfectly into Scorpius’ chest, his collarbones digging into Albus’ forehead.

“Hey,” Scorpius finally says. He holds Albus at arm’s length, staring deeply into his eyes to try and read the hidden emotions that bubble below his surface. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed _you_.” Albus says. He props himself onto his tiptoes, cracking the soles of his shoes, to kiss Scorpius. He breathes in the familiarity. He clings to the way it feels to be perfectly pressed against someone, to feel like he is _okay_. He can breathe properly for the first time since he arrived home.

Scorpius gently bumps their noses together. When they part he fixes Albus’ hair and collar, straightening out the folds of the turtleneck and tucking away some loose strands from curls that had been torn apart by Scorpius’ curious fingers tangling in them.

“Same.” Scorpius says.

They take a moment outside in the fresh air to look at each other. It’s almost ridiculous, Albus thinks, how sincerely he has missed this boy. He doesn’t know how they used to go weeks not seeing each other during summers gone by. Now, being apart from him for a few hours feels like he’s left part of his soul somewhere.

The first person to greet Scorpius when they step inside is Sofia, who throws herself at him with such force she knocks him flat into the door.

“Scorpius!” She beams.

Scorpius squeezes her. “Sofia!” He matches her enthusiasm.

Similar joy is shared as James tumbles down the stairs to join in the hug. The three of them whisper among themselves and Albus knows what they are talking about, a thought that is confirmed as Scorpius tosses him a lovingly relieved glance just before the rest of the family come to see what the commotion is.

Ginny brushes her fingers over Scorpius’ cheeks and comments on how radiant he looks. Harry ruffles up his hair, Molly force feeds him some toast and almost pours a glass of orange juice down his neck. Scorpius really is part of the family, Albus thinks.

They sit at the breakfast table and Albus keeps a hand on Scorpius’ knee out of view. At some point Scorpius weaves their fingers together, and if anyone notices that both of them eat their fruit and drink their tea with only one hand, nobody points it out.

⚡

Churches feel familiar to Albus.

The way his footfalls echo on the uneven slabs as they head to the front and slip into the pews, the gentle shuffles and scratches of coats against wood blending with the tones of the organ playing a soft song. The candles that flicker. The way the stained glass windows light from the way the sun’s rays catch them.

Scorpius sits beside him, James on his other side.

Albus feels numb.

He looks at the coffin and the photograph of Arthur set on top among a ring of blue flowers. He looks at his entire family, and friends of the family, dressed in black. Teddy behind him, hair subdued and dyed a darker colour as to not stand out among the crowd. His Aunt Luna and Professor Neville a few rows back. So many people. So, so many people.

The ceremony goes straight through him for the most part. One by one the grandchildren head to the front and say a few words, reciting something they have prepared, sandwiched between prayers and hymns. Albus sings and smiles and cries as if he’s reading cues from a script.

James steps up at one point to read out a letter grandpa had slipped in his birthday card last year. There are tears in his eyes, but James is strong, and he manages to get through it all without letting anything shed. Lily reads out a little speech she prepared about how wonderful it was when grandpa would take her into the garden and help her identify different types of magical and Muggle creatures in the grass.

And then it’s Albus.

Eyes expectantly turn to him as his name is read from the running order.

Albus avoids all eye contact as he steps up, front and centre, and stares, instead, to the circular stained glass piece hanging above the door opposite him. He thinks it is documenting the Crucifixion. He knows bits and pieces about religion, but his knowledge is still sparse.

“I, um,” Albus says. “I was only told to prepare something a couple of days ago. I’ve not been in the country recently, and I missed the day grandpa… yeah. And I feel really guilty about it, and it feels almost insincere to stand here and read something I memorised when I wasn’t here to see everything fall apart. But, you know.”

He catches Scorpius’ gaze and breathes in the smile.

“I’ve been travelling, as some of you may know. And I spent a lot of time in churches. A lot of time in cathedrals… little shops… famous landmarks. I surprisingly learned a lot about people who have passed away. I lit a lot of candles, said a lot of silent prayers. But there was this one cathedral I went to in France, _Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon_,” he says, and notices how Scorpius smiles at his perfect pronunciation. “And I lit some candles for my Uncle Fred and my grandparents on my dad’s side. People I’ve never met, but people I still love. When I lit those candles I thought it was so odd and trivial how I was doing this when I never experienced the pain of losing them… and now… now I know that type of pain.

“There was, um,” he continues, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a piece of paper. “A guestbook at the back of the cathedral. People wrote their names and where they came from, and all that. And there was this one page where someone had written out an entire poem. And I read the poem… and it stuck with me. I don’t know why, but it did. So I got a napkin from my bag and wrote it down. This is the napkin.” He says, flinging it about in the air. A few people laugh at his dry humour.

“And the poem… wasn’t written about a man. But I don’t think that matters. What matters is the message of the poem, I guess. And the feelings it will summon in you. I think it weirdly encapsulates grief in a way that isn’t too obvious. And when I was asked to prepare something, my mind immediately went to this.” Albus finishes, clearing his throat as he recites the poem.

_Tread lightly, she is near_

_ Under the snow,_

_Speak gently, she can hear_

_ The daisies grow._

_All her bright golden hair_

_ Tarnished with rust,_

_She that was young and fair_

_ Fallen to dust._

_Lily-like, white as snow,_

_ She hardly knew_

_She was a woman, so_

_ Sweetly she grew._

_Coffin-board, heavy stone,_

_ Lie on her breast,_

_I vex my heart alone_

_ She is at rest._

_Peace, Peace, she cannot hear_

_ Lyre or sonnet,_

_All my life’s buried here,_

_ Heap earth upon it._

“I miss my grandpa a lot,” Albus says after he has finished. “_So_ much. It feels like it will never get better. But I know, in my heart, it will. He has fallen to dust, as the poem says, but he will always be here, somewhere.” He concludes, gesturing to the air.

Albus folds up the napkin once more, gives a final look at the coffin, and then heads back to his space in the pew.

⚡

The service ends. Albus watches as the coffin is taken out. They leave. The Burrow feels empty even though people crowd the garden where the post-service gathering is. People tell him that his speech was beautiful. People hug him. They love him. They give him sad looks accompanied by sympathetic tilts of their heads. They hand him cups filled with water and juice and try to share their cake with him. They exchange stories about Arthur and expect him to laugh.

He performs his part as best he can. For Arthur.

⚡

Albus sits in front of the fireplace long after everyone has left. Paper plates are scattered everywhere. Half empty cups sit on every available surface and a few left behind jackets have been hung on the hooks for retrieval later in the week. He drags the tip of his wand through a pile of cinders that have collected at the base of the fire. The flames lick dangerously close to his wand and his hand, the streaks of heat warming him more than he would normally like.

Everyone else is asleep. Or, well, they _were_.

“I have told you before that you’re awful at lingering in the background,” Albus says, motionlessly beckoning Scorpius to join him on the floor. “You still breathe loudly.”

“And you’re still awful at walking down the stairs quietly.” Scorpius murmurs, lips pressing a kiss to Albus’ temple as he sits beside him. He gently peels Albus’ wand from his hand and sets it on the floor, blowing sweet, cool breaths over his skin to subside the almost-burning sensation.

Albus looks at him. “I didn’t cry today.” He declares.

Scorpius nods. “I noticed.”

“I’ve cried every day since I found out he died,” Albus says. “But today of all days… nothing.”

“That’s normal,” Scorpius says. “Most people mourn the day before a funeral. The day of the funeral is a celebration of life. Plus, as a member of the family, everything is very overwhelming. I always think of it as an inverted wedding. At weddings, if you’re family, people won’t leave you alone. They come up and talk to you about the happy couple and try and get you to dance and laugh and have fun. At funerals they talk to you about the person who has died and try to get you to reminisce on happy moments. It’s jarring.”

“I feel like I’m going to crash back to Earth at some point,” Albus says. “I’ve been… floating, I guess? Drifting the last couple of days. Smiling when I’m expected to smile. Laughing when I should laugh. Frowning when I should.”

Scorpius’ fingers dance over Albus’ cheeks. “Yeah? Well,” he says. “I’ll be here to make sure you land softly. No crashing. Just… gently coming back down.”

Albus kisses him in the glow of the fire. His nose is rosy red and Scorpius’ is pale. His eyes flutter shut and his hand finds the neckline of Scorpius’ pyjamas. Albus drags him impossibly close.

Scorpius pulls away first. Only a few millimetres, but far enough away to notice the sticky tracks of tears that have appeared under Albus’ eyes. Scorpius pulls down the sleeves of his jumper and gently wipes his fingers over the tears to brush them away.

“Are you back down?”

Albus cracks.

On the floor of the Burrow, photos of his family and empty cups and lopsided shelves and old furniture around him, Albus bursts. And he is relieved. Broken. Empty. Fresh.

He is everything and nothing all at once.

⚡

**10th August**

Albus wishes they were alone.

The entire Weasley-Potter-Granger family are stood at the door in their dressing gowns watching as Scorpius gets ready to leave. Albus has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Scorpius zip up his coat and shoulders his rucksack. He wants to kiss him goodbye.

He really, really wishes they were alone.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days?” Scorpius asks. Albus watches as Scorpius sneaks a glance over his shoulders before gently reaching out to tuck a strand of Albus’ hair behind his ear.

Albus nods and dares to step closer. He knows they’re being watched. “A couple of days,” Albus promises. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“Great.” Scorpius smiles.

They look at each other. Albus looks behind him at his family, all smiling and nodding and watching as if they’re at a sporting event. It feels odd.

“I’ll be off, then,” Scorpius clears his throat. “I love you. I’ll see you–”

Albus kisses him.

He grabs Scorpius’ cheeks and rises to his tiptoes and kisses him because, _Merlin_, he loves him. And he’s not going to pretend as if he doesn’t just because his family is watching. Scorpius freezes for a moment before he settles into it. There’s a hand on Albus’ chest and one in his hair and everything feels right at once. Albus wishes they were alone, but he won’t let the company get in his way.

Their noses are pressed together when they part a few moments later. “I love you,” Albus says. “Openly, freely, forever. All that jazz.”

“I love you,” Scorpius repeats. “Openly, freely, and forever, too.”

Albus sees Scorpius’ gaze momentarily flick back to the crowd at the door. He uses a hand to tilt Scorpius’ chin down so they are looking at each other again. “Who cares about them?”

Scorpius softens. “Indeed, who cares?”

Albus fixes up Scorpius’ coat, folding down the collar and doing up a couple of the buttons over the top of the zip. He sorts out some of Scorpius’ hair, brushes off ambiguous clusters of dust that have clung to his clothes after a day spent at the Burrow.

“See you soon.” Scorpius smiles.

_Crack_.

Albus stares at the vacant spot where Scorpius stood seconds before. Odd, he thinks, how pathetically empty he feels now. Albus stands there for a few moments, mentally preparing himself for the next ten minutes of his life once he steps back inside the Burrow.

He turns on his heels and walks slowly back to the door. Most of his family have made themselves sparse, pottering about inside to clean up after the day before and work out how they go on and live life following the funeral. Only James and his mum are at the entrance. James is smiling, Ginny looks relieved.

“You could have told me, Al,” Ginny says as she pulls Albus into her side. She kisses his temple and fiddles with his hair, and Albus notices how she avoids all the spots Scorpius had touched moments before. “You know that?”

Albus nods. “I know.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m not going to bombard you with questions, but I just need to know… how long?”

Albus wraps his arms around her waist. “Officially? Under a week. Our last day in Greece. But me liking him? Fourth year.”

“Ah,” Ginny smiles. “I suppose almost ending the world is one way to bond with someone.”

Albus laughs. James snickers. Ginny kisses both their cheeks.

“What is it with my offspring and having secret relationships?” Ginny muses as they head into the house and shut out the light rain that has started to fall. “I’ll have to check that Lily is actually going to summer school and not, you know, having secret rendezvous’ with a secret partner.”

⚡

**11th August**

Home.

James is asleep on the sofa, Monty on his lap. Sofia and Harry bond over baking in the kitchen, and Albus sits at the island sifting through photos from the disposable camera he had developed the other day. There are far too many of him, his cheeks flushing bright pink as he realises how many sneaky shots Scorpius took of him without him noticing.

Then there is someone sitting next to him.

“I will love you until the day I die, and even after that,” Harry says, a spec of flour on his nose. “You know that?”

Albus smiles and pushes his dad’s glasses back up his nose. “I know.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “And I’m so glad you’re happy.”

Albus flushes again.

Harry picks up a photo from the pile on the table, the one they got a couple to take of them while in Rome. He taps his wand to it, a few blue sparks shooting out and spreading over the little slip of paper. And then, magically, the figures of Albus and Scorpius start to move. A few seconds before and after the photo was taken, the two of them smiling at each other and squeezing each other and smiling.

“Can I keep this?” Harry asks.

Albus nods. “Of course.”

Harry smiles. And Albus doesn’t know why he was ever worried about coming back here and being truthful. He truly was a foolish soul.

⚡

**12th August**

“This was just after Albus passed out in Barcelona,” Scorpius says as he shows photos to Draco over the breakfast table. Draco with his hair loose and over his shoulders, wedding ring catching the early morning sunlight, sleepy eyes alight with joy at having his boy back under his roof. “Because he was silly and forgot a cap and wasn’t drinking any water.”

“_Hey_!” Albus protests.

“And this,” Scorpius flips to a photo of the two of them in Alicante, sat on the hill looking at the stars. “Was stargazing. Learning about constellations. Eating a lot of strawberries.”

Draco nods along, pausing to take sips from his mug of coffee.

“This is Albus in front of a cathedral,” Scorpius continues. “And another cathedral… and _another_ cathedral.”

“There were a lot of cathedrals.”

Draco chuckles. “Understandable.”

“And this is Greece.”

The morning burns on like that. Albus dips his soldiers into his boiled eggs and watches with a smile as Scorpius goes through every single photograph Albus had developed. Draco nods along and traces a fingertip over Scorpius’ face in most of the photos, pointing out moments where he looks a lot like Astoria. They go through the books Scorpius bought, talk about the ghost they met in Spain and the mirages they saw in Greece (with Draco hastily scolding Scorpius after finding out that going to the sanctuary was his idea), and they even touch lightly on the Healing Academy.

Draco’s eyes cloud with a layer of severity at the mention of Healing, and Albus can sense that this is a conversation the two of them have had before. He is interested in what Scorpius learned, constantly reminding him that whatever he chooses he will be fully supported the entire way.

Albus just drinks and eats and drums his fingers over the oak table, legs crossed and eyes permanently glued on Scorpius. He doesn’t know whether Scorpius has told Draco the details of their _situation_ yet, but Albus is done pretending. And from the way Scorpius keeps gently knocking their knuckles together and looking at Albus with his wide-eyed, moony gaze, he thinks they’re both on the same page.

“What about you, Albus?” Draco turns attention to him. “Did the trip inspire your future life choices?”

Albus shrugs. “Sort of? I don’t know. I mean, before I left I’d sort of talked about opening a business in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade… like a trinket shop? Antique shop, I think the Muggles call them? Because I was already really fascinated with the things my grandpa,” the name catches in his throat. “Used to collect. So I started collecting my own on this trip. And I think I like the idea of doing that. Having a flat above the shop, showing off these artefacts I’ve picked up. Going on weekend breaks to European cities to restock my collection.”

Draco smiles. “That sounds perfect for you,” he says, looking between the two boys. “What does that mean for… the two of you?”

“The two of us?” Albus asks.

“The two of _us_,” Scorpius continues. “I’m not sure. We haven’t worked out details yet. I’m going to look into places local where you can study for your Healing License. I don’t think going abroad is the perfect choice for me. I need to do some more research, I might chat to some Healers at St. Mungo’s about it.”

“So you might stay?” Draco asks.

Scorpius smiles. “I might stay.”

⚡

Before noon they head out for a walk. Draco says something about wanting fresh air and Scorpius suggests going to the bakery he and his dad went to back when Astoria was alive. Draco’s expression crumbles slightly, but he agrees.

Albus rolls up the sleeves to his shirt and undoes the top button, the sun beating down on an uncharacteristically warm day, and he tucks his sunglasses into his messy nest of a hairdo as they walk down the long path away from the Manor and turn onto the street.

In the fields that surround the Manor kids are flying kites, little phoenix and owl-shaped ones drifting and twirling and coiling along with the gentle summer breeze that cools Albus’ cheeks and skirts around his ankles. At some point he knocks his hand against Scorpius’ and, to his surprise, Scorpius links their fingers together and Draco doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

So Albus kisses Scorpius’ cheek.

_Nothing_.

He is free to do as he pleases, and he finally feels released of all tensions that had burned a hole in his heart.

The village local to Malfoy Manor is outlined by cobbled roads and vintage shops with marquees that hover over the pavements and signs that hang and dangle in the wind. The hinges creak and the doors tinkle as they open and close, and every person they pass smiles in their direction, even when they realise it’s the Malfoys and the Slytherin Squib.

_Wildflower Bakery_ is hidden between an old costume parlour and a charity shop. The steps that lead to the door are worn out in the centre, lopsided and steep and dirty from years and years of footsteps climbing them. The floor is old, dark wood, the heels of Scorpius’ dress shoes clicking as they head to the counter.

A man looks up from his copy of the _Prophet_, fingers snapping and sending his tiny pencil darting behind his ear. He’s a short man, the bottom half of his face covered in facial hair and his eyes so small Albus can barely see his blue irises peeking out. His eyebrows are almost comically curved into a perfect C, shooting sky high as he recognises Draco and Scorpius, his hands clasping over his heart.

“Draco!” The man – _Archibald_, his name tag reads – says. His voice booms, shaking the glass counters and shivering the silver cutlery resting to his side. “And is that Scorpius? _Merlin_, it’s been years since I’ve seen you two. Paloma! Come see who’s just walked in.”

Archibald speaks to the open doorway that leads further into the bakery, to the back where the ovens are, and seconds later a similarly short woman comes bundling in, hair wrapped up in a bun and flour dotted all over her face.

“Who are–?” Paloma starts, gasping as her eyes settle on the three of them. “Draco!”

Draco smiles. He holds a hand out for Paloma, kissing her knuckles as she takes it. “Lola… Archie,” he says. There is something in his voice that wavers ever so slightly, a flicker of emotion that fumbles in his syllables and appears in wrinkles over his cheeks. “It is so wonderful to see you both.”

“You’re so tall now, Scorpius,” Paloma (or Lola? Albus is getting mixed messages) says, flicking her gaze over to him, and then Albus. “And this must be…”

“Albus,” Scorpius smiles, gently swinging their hands. “Albus Potter.”

“Well, of course,” Archie says. “You look just like your father.”

Albus smiles.

“What can we do for you three today?” Paloma asks. She ties an apron around her waist and picks up a little paper bag, tongs in her hands as she looks expectantly between them.

“Do you still do those blueberry croissant pastries?” Scorpius asks. He steps up to the counter and taps his fingers gently over the glass, perusing all the options and murmuring things to his dad.

Paloma grins. “Of course we do,” she says, pottering over to the back left side of the counter. “How many?”

Scorpius looks at Albus. “Do you want one?” He asks, thumb rubbing over Albus’ wrist bone. “I promise they’re good.”

“Sure,” Albus says. “As long as one of those cookies gets slipped in, too.”

Scorpius’ eyes roll. “You’re a minx.”

“Hold on,” Albus murmurs, squinting at something in the display. “Are those Honey Rum scones?” He asks.

“They certainly are,” Archie grins, clamping a pair of tongs around one of the scones. “Our daughter went to Spain for her honeymoon and kept raving about this Rum when she got back. We made her and her husband some scones infused with it as a housewarming present, and they’ve been a decent seller ever since.”

“Can I…?” Albus asks.

“Sure!” Archie says, breaking off part of the scone to hand to Albus.

Albus spits it in half, cupping his hand to catch the crumbs, and hands the larger section to Scorpius. “Do you remember?” He asks.

Scorpius nods.

They cheers the portions of the scone and Albus drops his into his mouth whole. And, just like that, he remembers the sweet Barcelona midnight warmth on his neck, the taste of Honey Rum rich on his lips as they walked down the jetty back to the houseboat. The way the stars reflected in the sea, little splashes of white and gold shimmering with the waves. The way Scorpius’ eyes lit up like the North Star, always guiding, always there, always _home_.

“These are amazing,” Scorpius says, mouth partly full and hand covering his lips. “Put six in.”

⚡

Albus lingers at the door, half of a Honey Rum scone in his mouth, while Scorpius and Draco say goodbye to the Valencourt family. He tries not to listen, honestly, but Albus has always been bad at distracting himself, and he can’t help but dip in and out of the soft words that are being exchanged.

“I promise we will be back soon,” Draco says. “It was just… incredibly hard to come here after we lost Astoria.”

“We understand, Draco,” Paloma says. “We… figured that was the reason your visits stopped. All that matters is that you and Scorpius are okay.”

“We’re doing good,” Scorpius says. “And now I know you have Honey Rum scones… I’ll be here every week.”

Albus hears Archie laugh. In the faint reflection of the window he can see them reaching over to hug each other, tiny specs of flour ending up in Scorpius’ hair.

“It’s been wonderful to see you,” Archie’s voice is gentle. “And to see you both happy. The last few times you were here… we could see the weight on your shoulders. The sadness.”

Albus’ feelings lodge in his throat. He wants to turn around and look, but doesn’t allow himself to do so.

“Thank you,” Draco says. He clears his throat, Albus hears him rap his knuckles on the desk. The paper bags crunch as he picks them up. “We will see you soon.”

“Soon.” Paloma and Archie repeat.

Moments later there is a kiss to the back of Albus’ neck and a chunk from his scone stolen. Albus playfully rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Scorpius’ shoulders. He isn’t sure how much Honey Rum is in these scones, but he’s definitely wavering on the fragile line between sober and ever so slightly tipsy.

“Don’t steal my scone.” Albus says.

Scorpius has a hold on him, dragging him along by his presence alone as they walk back down the cobbles. He’s magnetic, Albus thinks. Keeps Albus hanging on to every single word and every single laugh.

“_Our_ scone.” Scorpius smiles.

Albus grabs Scorpius’ cheeks and kisses him in broad daylight, sun shining on their hair and villagers bustling past them with bags full of groceries and pockets jingling with change. And, unsurprisingly, the world doesn’t end.

“I love you,” Albus says. “Are you fed up of me saying that yet?”

Scorpius shakes his head and kisses him again. “I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

“Good,” Albus smiles, their noses nudging together. “Because I love you.”

⚡

They sit at the side of a river, scones in front of them, bottles of lemonade dangling between their fingers, drops of condensation chilling their skin and staining their trousers. Draco transfigured his jacket into a blanket for them to use, and Albus fiddles with the tassels as he watches a little family of ducks waddle along the bank and jump into the water. Their feathers shimmer with beads of river water that trickles off them, little webbed feet propelling them away, away, away.

Scorpius lies on his front, a book he’d bought from the charity shop open in front of him. His legs are kicked into the air, feet hooked, cuffs of his trousers riding up his milky skin so his tattoo is free for the whole world to see. His eyes flit from side to side, drinking in the words as if they are a glass of water he’s found after months spent in the desert. Albus doesn’t think he will ever get used to how wonderful Scorpius looks when he reads. The way he mindlessly chews his bottom lip in concentration. Drags his finger across the lines when there is something particularly hard to understand. Sometimes he uses his wand, placing the tip on words he needs to reread a few times. He has a photograph of his mother and father as a bookmark, one of them on their first Christmas living together at the Manor. Occasionally, Albus notices, Scorpius absent-mindedly traces his mum’s face with his thumb when he is lost completely in the book.

And it’s moments like this, he thinks, where he sees who Scorpius truly is. With nothing holding him back, not knowing someone sees him. Where Scorpius softens into this impossibly endearing and intelligent boy, who loves reading books and learning things and _living_. A boy, sweet and delicate, who misses his mum.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want, Al,” Draco says. Albus drags his eyes from Scorpius to look at Draco. Draco with his sleeves rolled up, because he insisted on wearing a jumper despite it being _summer_, and his hair tied back. Ring glimmering. Fingers rolling over the silver band like he is attached to it. “But how was the funeral?”

“Oh,” Albus murmurs. He clears his throat and sits upright on the blanket, focusing his gaze on a duckling that is flapping about in the water and squeaking after its siblings who swim ahead. “It was… a lot?”

Draco chuckles sadly. “Makes sense.”

“I still don’t think I’ve fully processed it. I mean, for the entire time I’ve been back I’ve been reacting to things how I’m expected to react, if that makes sense? It’s like… I know I’m supposed to be sad, and I _am_, but I found myself crying when other people did, laughing when others were. For the whole day I was just performing, I guess?” Albus says, picking a blueberry out the croissant to nibble on. “None of it felt genuine. Until I got home, and I finally felt like I could just _be_.”

“When Astoria died,” Draco says after a few moments. “I felt nothing. Numb, I suppose. She was my soulmate, _is_ my soulmate, so when she died I just… stopped working. Have you heard about Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes?”

Albus shakes his head.

“They were together for sixty years. Master and animal. But friends, more than that. Dumbledore’s Patronus was a phoenix, Fawkes _always_ protected Dumbledore. They were one and the same. And when Dumbledore died, Fawkes flew away from Hogwarts and nobody saw it again. The grief… the sadness at losing Dumbledore drove Fawkes away. Fawkes couldn’t stick around without Dumbledore, so it left,” Draco explains. “And I felt the same way when Astoria died. Like I couldn’t live. Couldn’t stay around. I couldn’t cry, because I was numb. I couldn’t talk, because I was numb. So her funeral was exactly as you said Arthur’s was. Me just pretending. Changing my feelings to fit what everyone else was showing. The only time I felt like I could express it all was when I went to her library afterwards. And I sat in her chair, fiddled with her bookmarks.

“It was only when I saw the book she was reading on her table that I lost it,” he continued, finger dragging over his lip. “It was four-hundred and twenty pages long. And she was on page three-hundred and five. And I realised then how much of her life was incomplete. She would never know how the book ends. Never know what Scorpius would do with his life. What _I _would do. And that was when I cried. Because everything was incomplete, things we were supposed to complete together… and it was so bitterly unfair.”

The lake shivers with a breeze that casts downwind. It blows pages of Scorpius’ book over, and the three of them sit up and back and bask in the tranquillity of it all.

“Life is unfair,” Draco says once more. “But we all survive, somehow.”

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow! What a Ride!’”

Albus and Draco look over at Scorpius.

“What was that, sugar?” Albus asks.

Scorpius looks to them. “The wind… it made me lose my page,” he says. “And it opened on that one instead.”

“What a ride.” Draco repeats.

Albus reaches over to kiss away a few of the tears that have slipped on Scorpius’ cheeks. Scorpius looks to the sky, tears shimmering in his waterline and lips pulled taut in a desperately painful frown. He looks to the sky and Albus wishes he could reach up and pull Astoria from among the clouds. Place her gently on the blanket so she can sit and watch and eat the blueberry croissants with them. So Scorpius can talk to her about books and Draco can delicately braid her hair.

So they can circle the sun a few more times. Ride the wave of life. Just a few more times.

But he can’t.

Albus kisses Scorpius’ temple. Because he can.

⚡

“I’ve missed your bed.” Albus says, stretching out over the satin bedsheets and dragging his fingertips over the velvet blanket tickling his shins.

Scorpius draws the curtains shut and casts a quiet _lumos_ to illuminate the lights that hang over them. The little bulbs wash the room with polka dots of gold and white, fading in and out as they twinkle like stars.

“We never sleep in here,” Scorpius says. He sets his watch on his bedside table and tumbles in beside Albus, lips pressed to Albus’ shoulder and fingers dragging up and down his arm. “Feels odd being in here with you.”

“Odd in a good way?”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

The sheets crinkle together as Albus drags the covers over them. The Manor is constantly cold even in the middle of summer, with the cool air slipping under the doors and filling the high ceilings. It wraps around the marble pillars and high bedposts, clinging to the ornate artefacts that decorate bookshelves and wriggling into every nook and cranny it can find. Albus pulls the covers to his chin and curls in Scorpius’ side.

“Funny how this feels more normal than sleeping separately,” Albus murmurs. “Knowing I’ll be able to accidentally slap you in the morning is a great feeling.”

Scorpius hums. “And knowing I’ll be able to kick you out if you’re really annoying it incredible, too.”

“_Hey_.” Albus whines.

“You started it!”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Did _not_.”

“Merlin,” Scorpius changes the tone of the conversation. “I’ve missed you.”

⚡

**13th August**

They eat scones in the morning. Glasses of fresh orange juice cool their fingers. They sit in the garden in their pyjamas watching the peacocks rise from their slumber. The early morning sun is rich on their weary eyes and paints them with a thin lining of butterscotch orange.

Albus kisses Scorpius’ cheek. Scorpius points out the shapes of the clouds that slither past in the great abyss above.

Albus decides there and then, lips tacky with juice and fingers curled around Scorpius’ wrist and bare feet pressed firmly on the granite step below, that this is how he wants to spend the rest of his life.

⚡

“I _love_ you.”

“I love _you_.”

“I love you”

(It never gets old.)

⚡

Albus gets back to his house a little after ten to empty rooms and empty tables. He sorts through his clothes, dropping things into the laundry basket and hanging up other things in his wardrobe. He sets the bag full of Honey Rum scones, for James and Sofia, in the breadbin and pours himself a cup of tea. The garden is alive with butterflies that hop from flower to flower as if they are stepping stones, tickling the petals with their antennae and blinding the world with their beautiful wings. Through the open window, lace curtains blowing from the sweet morning breeze, Albus can hear frogs from the brook at the bottom of the garden, hidden among huge clusters of grass and sat on lily-pads as they watch the world go by.

Upstairs, his eyes linger on the letter on his desk. The handwritten words are bold. They threaten to drag him in and knock him down a couple of steps in his healing process. He turns it side to side, watching as the streaks of sunlight that pass through his window light up the envelope differently depending on the angle.

He puts it down, picks up the gifts he bought for his family, and heads back to the living room.

⚡

“So, um,” Albus says. He looks at everyone sat around the coffee table, Ginny and Harry sitting on the armchair together, folded up in the most complex of ways, Lily sandwiched between James and Sofia on the main sofa. “I know you all told me not to, but I bought you guys some gifts. Not loads, because I know you’d tell me off, but just… little things.”

Monty plods into the living room and settles over Albus’ lap, nuzzling into his hand until Albus surrenders and pets him for a while.

“Okay. Dad, mum, James,” Albus says, sifting through the little wooden sculptures to hand them out. The stag to Harry, horse to Ginny and lovebird to James. “I found these in Greece. We were walking through a little market, and while Scorpius was looking at books I spotted them and got them.”

“Al…” James says. He smiles as he drags his thumb over the curves of the sculpture, handing it over to Sofia so she can look without craning her neck.

“I was really surprised they had them all.”

“What are they?” Lily asks, reaching over to take Harry’s to look at.

“Our Patronuses,” Ginny explains. Albus watches as she tries to subtly blink away some tears. “We can try and find one of yours when you learn how to cast a one. You too, Al.”

“You still haven’t cast one?”

Albus looks at Lily and shakes his head. “No… I never had, you know. A really positive memory,” he says slowly, almost ashamed to admit this in front of his family. “But I think… I think if I tried again now, after the last few weeks, I could make a pretty good go of it.”

“Sorry to ruin this really emotional moment,” Sofia interrupts, holding the lovebird statue in the light. “But what is a Patronus?”

Harry smiles. “It’s… a really powerful charm. A defensive charm. It is incredibly complex and difficult, and it relies on the person having very vivid positive memories. It’s a gift of light, and it protects the caster against some of the evilest forces in our world,” he says. “And your Patronus takes the form of the animal you share the most qualities with.”

Sofia looks at James. “A lovebird?”

“Friendly, active, loyal,” James says. “When they mate they do so for life.”

Sofia smiles.

“I think,” Lily says after a moment. “That my memory would be the first summer after I started Hogwarts. When we had that huge family gathering at the Burrow to celebrate Bill and Fleur’s anniversary?”

“I remember.” Ginny smiles.

“I was really, _really_ happy when the sun set, and we were in the garden, roasting marshmallows. It was very nice.”

Sofia gently ruffles Lily’s hair. “What’s your memory, _mi amor_?” She asks James.

“It changes,” James says. “It used to be winning the Cup as Quidditch Captain. That was amazing.”

Albus scoffs. James throws a scrunched up napkin at him.

“Now it’s when you first said you loved me.”

Albus wants to vomit.

“What do you think your memory would be now then, Al?” Harry asks. He cradles the stag sculpture close to his chest, looking at his youngest son through glasses that are sliding down his face.

Albus shrugs.

He thinks about that time in France, Montpellier to be precise, when he watched Scorpius wave at the Thestrals. In Alicante, looking at Scorpius and his profile lit by the moon and the stars. Playing with the sundials in Geneva, suddenly realising that their romantic prospects – _already met them and it is content _– were about each other. San Nicolla Arcella – all of it. All of Mykonos. The sand between his toes and the salt sticking to his skin, drying in his hair, staining his tongue. The lights in the background, the gentle rumble of the bass shuddering the ground.

Scorpius in front of him. Smiling. Soft skin touching Albus’, eyelash shadows covering his cheeks. Hair that curls when dried by the sun. Voice that drops a couple of octaves when he notices Albus staring.

Scorpius. Scorpius. Scorpius.

Albus shrugs again.

“I’m not sure,” Albus says. “I’ve got quite a few to choose from.”

⚡

_My Scorpius,_

_I’ve been thinking more about the future, and I realised I can’t make too many plans because they all include you. I think I’ve decided starting a business is the thing I want to do. My grandma has said I’m allowed to take anything I want from my grandpa’s shed, and I’m probably going to take everything, so setting up a shop or just finding somewhere to display it all makes the most sense._

_I know you said you weren’t convinced by studying abroad, but I need you to know if you want to do it, then I am behind you and we will make it work. I get that we’ve started something… complex between us, but that doesn’t mean your dreams have to go on the backburner. These are the years in our lives to explore and do everything we want to do. If you want to go to France, or Spain – anywhere in the whole world, you should._

_And we will make it work._

_I think for the rest of summer I’m going to put everything aside and enjoy these days with family, with you. It’s odd that I don’t feel pressure to start my life like I thought I would. I think I’m still stuck in this weird transitional phase between coming back from Europe, dealing with the funeral, and deciding what to do next._

_But anyway, the future isn’t the reason I’m writing to you._

_I have some things I want to do to finally deal with the situation surrounding my grandpa, and I’d quite like to do it with you. I want the company, and I don’t think having my parents as that company would be best for me. Either tomorrow or the day after, I think. I’ll let you know. If you want to come, that is._

_I just think after I’ve dealt with it and done what I need to do I’ll start feeling human again._

_I’d love if you would join me._

_Yours. Only yours. Always yours,_

_Al x_

⚡

“You’ll come see us soon,” Sofia says, voice muffled against Albus’ pyjama shirt. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and she has the bag of Honey Rum scones in her hands. “Promise?”

Albus blinks back some tears. He really hates saying goodbye to people he loves. “Promise.”

As James takes Sofia’ spot, Albus crumbles. James is everything. He is friendliness and mischief and support and loyalty. He’s his brother; that sums it up perfectly.

“I’ll write to you,” James says. “And you will send us loads of those scones, anyway.”

“Of course.” Albus promises.

James shoulders their bags and Sofia rests her head on his shoulder. Ginny and Harry wave from the door and Lily sits on the steps watching them go. It’s dark and cloudy and Albus can barely see the stars. The sky feels lonelier, scarier, even.

“Love you guys,” James presses a kiss to his fingers and holds his hand out to his parents. He takes Sofia’s hand afterwards, joining them back as the perfect whole Albus knows them so well as. “See you all soon.”

Albus waves. Sofia waves back. James winks at him.

Then they leave through the gate, the fence creaking at the hinges and shuddering as it locks back into place. To the train station, Albus thinks. Sofia banned apparition, so he imagines they have a long journey ahead of them.

“Come on, Al,” Harry says, holding the door open to shuttle everyone back inside. “It’s getting late.”

⚡

_My Albus,_

_Of course I’ll come with you. You know you don’t even have to ask. Give me a place and a time and I’ll be right there._

_I’d follow you to the end of the Earth without question._

_See you tomorrow._

_Yours, yours, yours & yours,_

_Scorp x_

⚡

**14th August**

Albus holds a wreath of flowers in his hands as he stands in front of St. Christopher’s church. Beside him, hand slipped into Albus’ back pocket, is Scorpius. They both stare at the church. The curves of the glassless windows and the spire that extends up, up, up into the sky. The sun is sweet and familiar on his arms and if it weren’t for the road signs in English all around him, Albus could imagine them being back in France.

“Come on, sugar,” Scorpius says. He guides them across the road, through the iron gates, into the gardens and graveyard. “Do you know where his plot is?”

Albus nods and takes charge, weaving them between the lines of gravestones, stepping over plaques and being careful not to trip and step on anything. He gazes half-heartedly at the names engraved in the different stones, taking in the ages that all these people were when they passed. 72. 63. 24. 9.

He swallows thickly, shakes his head, and guides them to a little plot under an oak tree.

The stone is new, shining when the sun catches it through the branchy shelter that covers it. There are flowers covering the space already, roses and lily bouquets and orchids. A Gryffindor scarf has been laid out, some orange flowers, a Muggle locket with a photo of the entire Weasley family inside hanging off the edge.

“So many friends,” Albus says. “Grandpa had so many friends.”

“He knew a lot of people. Made a lot of people very happy,” Scorpius says, crouching as he reads the tags on some of the flowers. “Fought in the Wars… he did a lot, didn’t he?”

Albus nods and sits at the side of the stone. He fiddles with his wreath of flowers, folding out some of the petals and turning some leaves to create the perfect composition. He sets it in a little space he finds, tucking it among the roses and the booklet that was laid on the day of the funeral. Scorpius sits next to him, rests a hand on Albus’ thigh and rubs little circles over the material of his jeans.

“Is that what you came here for?” Scorpius asks.

“No,” Albus murmurs. He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out the letter. “I need to read this.”

Scorpius reaches out. “Can I?” He asks, delicately taking it as Albus hands it over. “Who is it from?”

“My grandpa. I wrote to him when we were in Switzerland. He wrote a reply but didn’t get around to sending it before… you know,” Albus clears his throat. “And I haven’t been able to open it. I’ve tried, but I couldn’t. The Albus he wrote this to isn’t the Albus who will be reading it. I’m terrified of this, the last thing he wrote when he was happy and alive, being turned into something negative because of the circumstance under which I’m reading it…”

“But you know you can’t close this chapter of your grief until you read it.” Scorpius finishes.

Albus looks to the gravestone – _Arthur Weasley _in ornate capital letters – and nods. “Exactly.”

Scorpius hands the letter back to him. “Well,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Albus isn’t ready for a couple of hours. They sit there at the grave, making small talk and waving to people who walk past. Striking up a conversation with an elderly couple who have stories about Arthur. Scorpius heads out to buy some food from a corner shop and they sip on bottles of water as the sun moves above them. They talk about a lot of things. Their trip, their future, possible stories of the lives of people whose graves they sit among.

They never tire of talking to each other. There is never a beat of awkward silence.

Finally, just before five in the afternoon, Albus feels like he can do it.

He picks the letter up from the grave and turns it in his hands. Carefully, slowly and delicately he tears the envelope open. It smells so strongly of oil and sawdust, and Albus can picture his grandpa carefully writing this in his shed after a long day sorting through his artefacts. Albus treats the letter as if it could crumble to dust if handled too aggressively.

The parchment crackles and creases as he unfolds it, setting it on his lap as he begins to take in the words.

_Albus,_

_You have no idea how much of a wonderful surprise it was to find your letter on my desk when I woke up this morning. I’ve been missing you since you left, and worrying about you, too. It’s a grandparent’s job to worry._

_It sounds like you and Scorpius are having a wonderful time together. I always wanted to go to Geneva. I wanted to do a lot in my life, and some of it I’ve done, but Geneva never happened. I love how full of Muggle history it is. I’m very excited to see all the artefacts you bring back. We’ll have to make some of those pancakes you love and go through it all. Maybe some of them can come in the shed? We will see. _

_It doesn’t matter that they may not be ancient. They don’t have to be. The fact you’re so interested in Muggle artefacts is wonderful to me. It means so much to have someone to share it all with. It feels like our thing, you know? When everyone else is talking about some spell or some magical news we just come to the shed and go through my candelabra collection. Old birdbaths. Bells. I count down the days to when you come back and we can go through it all once more._

_I truly mean it when I say I am thrilled to hear you are having a good time. Your mum and I talk about your letters, and how much happier you sound even in writing. I think this trip will be the making of you. You need this. Something that is yours and only yours. (And Scorpius’, of course). Nobody can take this away from you. Nobody can bring anyone else into it._

_This is your trip. Your journey. And it is going to make you amazing._

_Though I myself am wishing away the days so I can see you and talk about it all in person, I hope you are making the most of the time you are spending out there. I hope you fall in love with the little things. The way the air is different. The way water feels on your skin when you shower._

_I hope you fall in love with the big things, too. The landscape. The languages. The people you meet._

_I wish for this trip to take you, tear you apart, and put you back together again so you feel free of all the pains of your past. The trauma of school. The dark clouds that have followed you. I wish you love and joy and happiness for the rest of your trip. And I, with everything I have, cannot wait to hear all about it._

_I love you dearly, Albus. And I shall see you soon._

_Missing you,_

_Grandpa x_

Albus places the letter to his side and stares with tears in his eyes at the gravestone. There is silence as he looks and as Scorpius reads the letter himself. Then there are arms around his shoulders and kisses pressed to his cheek. Albus reaches up to wrap his hand around Scorpius’ arm, rubbing his thumb over the tensed muscles and the tendons he feels through Scorpius’ shirt.

He uses his free hand to fold up the letter and place it back in his jeans.

And he cries. And cries, and cries, and cries.

He lets himself fall into pieces, lets his tears seep into the soil, drip over the petals of flowers he leans over. Albus thinks Scorpius cries, too.

“I wish I could have shown him everything,” Albus manages to say. With Scorpius’ nose pressed to his cheek and their joined hands resting in his lap, it feels like them against the world. “I really, really do.”

“I know,” Scorpius whispers. “It hurts. It isn’t fair.”

“It’s not fair,” Albus repeats. “That you can’t show your mum and I can’t show my grandpa. That they don’t know about… _anything_.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “They do know,” he says, pointing to the sky. “Up there, down here, drifting. They _know_. You taught me that, Al. They don’t have to be here to see it all, to know it all.”

Albus looks at him. “I don’t want to feel sad anymore.”

Scorpius smiles sadly. “You won’t forever, Al. It subsides.”

Albus nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’m glad I have you.”

“Me, too,” Scorpius murmurs. He kisses Albus’ cheek. Kisses the curve of his jaw and the corner of his lips. “It’s been a rough couple of months, huh?”

Albus chokes out a laugh. He wipes his eyes and brushes away his tears. _Enough_ crying, he thinks. Enough. “You could say so.”

The sky fades to light pink above them. Candy floss clouds and peachy streaks.

“Do you have to be home soon?” Scorpius asks.

Albus kisses him and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No curfew.”

The sun is setting above them, hiding behind the houses and shooting out waves of thick orange that blend into the coral expanse. Scorpius, _his_ Scorpius, smiles.

“There’s a pub around the corner,” Scorpius whispers against his lips. “Shall we get a drink?”

Albus nods. Scorpius holds out his hands and helps Albus up. “That sounds wonderful,” he says. Their joined hands swing between them, and Albus looks down at his flowers on the grave once more. “It’s getting late, anyway.”

Albus kisses Scorpius’ cheek, blinks away his sorrow, and the two of them head out of the graveyard, the rest of their lives waiting on the other side of the gate. The sun sinks behind them, and they think they’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to anyone who has followed along on this journey - thank you. to anyone who has stumbled upon this after the final chapter was posted - thank you. to anyone who has left a comment or kudos - thank you. this fic started in may last year when i was in a bad place and needed an escapist fic to read. i couldn't find any, so i wrote some myself. this took a lot out of me, it's the longest thing i've ever written and the most time i've spent on one piece of writing. it means a lot to me, so having it complete finally is a lot to take in.
> 
> thank you for showing this story love. it means so much to me, and there are no words that can articulate how grateful i am for it all. thank you thank you thank you. see you on the flip side x

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @dustyspines!


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